RTHUR  J.   BUROICK 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


JUST  JINGLES 


JUST  JINGLES 


BY  ARTHUR  J.  BURDICK 


The  Peter  Paul  Book  Company 
Buffalo,  New  York 

MDCCCXCVIII 


Copyright,  1898 

by 
Arthur  J.  Burdick 


Printed  and  bound  by  The 
Peter  Paul  Book  Company, 
in  Buffalo,  New  York. 


P5 


TO 

tng 

TO  WHOSE  ENCOURAGEMENT  AND  ASSISTANCE 

I  OWE   WHATEVER  SUCCESS  I  HAVE 

ACHIEVED,    THIS  VOLUME  IS 

LO  VINGL  Y  D  ED  1C  A  TED. 


7594O5 


Preface 


IN  presenting  this,  my  first  volume  of  verse,  to 
the  public,  I  have  no  apologies  to  offer.  I  make  no 
claims  for  my  rhymes,  literary  or  otherwise,  beyond 
that  suggested  in  the  title;  they  are  "Just  Jingles." 

Some  of  these  verses  are  now  for  the  first  time 
given  to  the  public ;  the  majority  of  them,  however, 
have  appeared  in  print  in  various  papers  and  mag- 
azines. 

To  my  friends,  whose  solicitations  have  induced 
me  to  issue  this  volume,  I  say,  "Here  it  is;  may 
it  not  prove  disappointing  to  you";  to  my  readers 
who  have  by  their  letters  of  appreciation  encouraged 
me  in  my  literary  attempts,  ' '  May  you  find  as  much 
of  inspiration  and  encouragement  in  these  verses  as 
have  I  in  your  kind  letters";  to  my  readers  un- 
known to  me,  "Here  is  to  our  better  acquaintance; 
may  you  find  entertainment  in  reading  these  jingles, 
as  I  have  in  writing  them"  ;  to  the  criticr  "  'By  the 
lance  are  we  healed ' ;  your  criticisms  will  not  be  taken 
unkindly." 

And  now,  as  the  bibulous  Rip  Van  Winkle  would 
say,  "Here's  to  your  good  health,  and  your  future 
families'  good  health  ;  and  may  you  all  live  long  and 
prosper. ' ' 

ARTHUR  J.  BURDICK. 


Contents 

Serious  and  Sentimental 

PAGE 

The  Living  Chord, I 

Lights  by  the  Way .    /.£v 

Thinking  of  You,       .        .        .        .      • .        .        .4 
Light  Celestial,   .        .        .        .        .........      •'(* 

One  Song, .        8 

Only  a  Little  Waiting, 9 

To  a  Gull, 10 

In  the  Afterglow n 

Why  I  Love  the  Stars, 12 

When  the  Heart  Speaks .14 

Maidens  Three, .  15 

Echoes, 16 

When  I  Meet  You  Again, 17 

We  Meet  Again 18 

Sweetbrier, 19 

A  Truant  Song, 21 

A  Valentine 22 

The  Leafless  Tree, 23 

Keep  Singing  Your  Song 25 

Songs  of  Nature  and  the  Seasons 

The  Seasons, 31 

Autumn  Days .        -34 

Fair  Time, .36 

December •     *       .      38 

Winter,        .         .        .        .        .        ,        .        .        .40 
A  Springtime  Song,    .         .         .         .  .        .42 


x  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Two  Songs  to  May, 43 

Spoil-laden, 45 

Song  of  the  Plow, 46 

The  Lake  at  Sunset, 47 

Narrative  and  Reminiscent 

Tidings, .  53 

The  Old  Home, 56 

Memorial, 58 

Oh,  To  Be  a  Boy  Again  ! 59 

The  Horse  Fiddle, 60 

The  Old  Meadow  Brook 63 

Uncle  Dan, 65 

Old-time  Days, 67 

Abdallah's  Lesson,     .......  69 

Bill 71 

Uncle  Mat, 73 

An  Unlearned  Lesson,        ......  75 

Aunt  Keziah 77 

Skipper  Ireson, 79 

The  Witches  of  Salem, 83 

Children's  Poems 

Persevere, 91 

The  Hay  Barn, -93 

Tale  of  the  Turk  and  the  Tartar 94 

Sir  Hubert's  Ride .        -97 

The  Runaway  Boy 101 

The  Glorious  Fourth, 102 

A  Lullaby, 104 

How  Abed  Saved  His  Head, 106 

The  Boy  and  the  Bouncing  Bear,       .        .        .        .108 

A  Bold  Hold-up,         .                 109 


CONTENTS  xi 

PAGE 

When  Uncle  Sam  Was  Young, no 

Father  Sun  and  Mother  Moon, 112 

Twins,         .        ." .114 

My  Big  Brother ».  115 

The  Fairy  and  the  Burr, 116 

The  Brave  Midget, 118 

How  a  King  Lost  His  Christmas  Dinner,          .         .120 

Slumber  Street, 122 

The  Thoughtless  Three,     .         .        .        .         .         .123 

The  Grisly  Grum, 124 

The  Little  German  Band, 126 

The  Tables  Turned, 128 

A  Pair  of  Runaways, 130 

The  Wicked  Wambellee  Woo 132 

Pussy's  Valentine, 133 

Timorous  Tommy,      . 134 

Orphan  Billy, 136 

Miscellaneous 

If  You've  Only  Got  the  Sand 141 

Don't  You  Think  It  Better? 143 

The  Brave  Ones, 144 

High  Tide 146 

The  Woodland  Pool, 147 

Von  Blinker  the  Tinker, 148 

The  Rose  and  the  Thorn 150 

Take  Courage,    .        • 152 

The  Time  for  Dreaming, 153 

Sunset  on  the  Farm, 154 

Good  Night 156 


Acknowledgments  are  due  the  courtesy  of  The  New  England 
Magazine,  Godey's  Magazine,  The  Peterson  Magazine,  The  Woman's 
Magazine,  The  Penny  Magazine,  and  The  American  Home  Magazine 
for  reprint  of  some  of  the  poems  contained  in  this  volume. 


Illustrations 

To  a  Gull, facing  page  to 

Spoil-laden, "         "     45 

The  Old  Home,       .        .        .        .  "         "    56 

The  Woodland  Pool,       .        .        .        .  "         "   147 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL 


JUST  JINGLES 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL 


The  Living  Chord 


THE  harp,  with  its  delicate,  sensitive  strings, 

When  tenderly  touched  with  skill, 
Awakes  a  melody  sweet,  that  rings 
On  waiting  ear  ;  and  it  wings  and  flings 
The  harmony  rare,  that  finds  and  brings 
To  the  heart  a  tender  thrill. 


My  heart,  like  a  sensitive  lyre  that  had  known 

No  thrill  of  the  artist's  hand, 
At  thy  tender  touch  found  voice  and  tone. 
Inspired  by  thy  will  alone,  my  own, 
A  melody  rare  and  sweet  has  grown  — 

A  symphony  clear  and  grand. 


2  JUST  JINGLES 

And  the  quiver  and  throb,  and  the  rhythmic  thrill 

Of  my  heart,  thy  hand  swept  o'er  : 
Nor  time,  in  passing,  nor  death,  can  still, 
Nor  damp  of  the  grave  can  chill  or  kill ; 
But  the  sweet,  vibrating  music  will 

Continue,  love,  evermore. 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL 


Lights  by  the  Way 

WE  meet  in  the  world,  on  life's  highway, 

People  sedate  and  people  gay  ; 

And  amid  the  hurrying,  rushing  throng, 
That  ever  and  ever  is  swept  along 

On  this  human  tide  of  weal  and  woe, 

Some  passing  face  from  that  ebb  and  flow, 

Some  glance  of  an  eye,  or  some  plaintive  tone 
From  a  kindred  soul,  is  briefly  shown, 
Then  is  borne  away,  to  the  great  Unknown. 

But  that  passing  glimpse  of  a  brother  soul, 
Like  a  legend  graved  on  a  parchment  scroll, 
In  memory's  archives  is  laid  away, 
To  appear  again  on  some  future  day. 
And  who  can  tell,  or  who  may  know 
How  far  the  spell  of  that  glance  may  go? 

Some  thrill  of  that  soul  may  have  pierced  our  own; 
From  those  eyes  some  laudable  purpose  shone, 
That  our  pathway  lights  to  the  great  Unknown. 


JUST  JINGLES 


Thinking  of  You 


WHEN  I  see  a  sky  of  blue, 
Makes  me  think,  my  dear,  of  you  ; 
Brings  to  mind  your  blue,  blue  eyes, 
Rivaling  the  azure  skies ; — 
Makes  me  think,  my  dear,  of  you, 
When  I  see  a  sky  of  blue. 


When  the  sun  shines  bright  and  clear, 
Makes  me  think  of  you,  my  dear, 
And  your  smile  so  cheery,  bright, 
Turning  darkness  into  light ; — 
Makes  me  think  of  you,  my  dear, 
When  the  sun  shines  bright  and  clear. 


Fields  of  roses,  wet  with  dew, 
Make  me  think,  my  dear,  of  you, 
And  the  sweetness  of  your  love, 
Kissed  by  dews  of  heaven  above ; 
Love  that's  constant,  pure,  and  true, — 
Fields  of  roses,  wet  with  dew. 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL 

When  the  birds  sing  blithe  and  gay, 
Think  of  you  the  livelong  day — 
Think,  and  long  your  voice  to  hear, 
Sweetest  music  to  my  ear ; — 
Think  of  you  the  livelong  day, 
When  the  birds  sing  blithe  and  gay. 

When  the  world  seems  dark  and  drear, 
Makes  me  think  of  you,  my  dear; 
Long  to  hear  your  cheering  voice 
Bidding  me  again  rejoice  ; — 
Makes  me  think  of  you,  my  dear, 
When  the  world  seems  dark  and  drear. 


JUST  JINGLES 


Light  Celestial 


LIGHT  Celestial,  lead,  I  pray ; 
Guide  me  on  my  weary  way. 

If  my  path  leads  through  the  valley  where  the  black- 
est shadows  lie, 

Where  along  the  darkened  pathway  sin-cursed  de- 
mons hover  nigh, 

Though  I  journey  in  the  daytime  or  grope  onward 
in  the  night, 

I  will  fear  nor  foe  nor  evil,  if  led  by  thy  kindly  light. 


Light  Celestial,  lead,  I  pray ;  . 

Guide  me  on  my  weary  way. 
Though  my  path  leads  up  the  mountain  where  the 

way  is  rough  and  steep, 
Over  roads  thick-strewn  with  pitfalls,  or  by  fearful 

chasms  deep, 
I'll  o'ercome  each  threatened  evil,  and  surmount 

the  steepest  height, 
Safely  walk  amid  all  dangers,  if  led  by  thy  kindly 

light. 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL  7 

Light  Celestial,  lead,  I  pray ; 

Guide  me  on  my  weary  way. 
Lead  me  all  along  life's  pathway,  be  my  journey 

short  or  long ; 
Lead  me  from  the  paths  of  evil,  guide  me  from  the 

fields  of  wrong  ; 
Ever  let  me  keep  thy  welcome,  guiding  radiance  in 

sight ; 
Lead  me  from  a  world  of  darkness  to  eternal  day, 

O  Light. 


JUST  JINGLES 


One  Song 

OF  all  the  multitude  of  songs 

That  reach  my  ear, 
One  only  lodges  in  my  heart  — 

Your  song,  my  dear. 
Your  song,  so  tender,  sweet,  and  true, 

My  soul  awakes ; 
My  voice  helps  swell  the  melody 

Your  music  makes. 

From  out  the  harmony  that  floats, 

One  song  I  hear, 
Sweeter  than  all  the  others  are. 

Tender  and  clear, 
It  leads  me  past  the  singers  all, 

And  to  your  side, 
Where,  dear,  with  love  and  you 

I  would  abide. 

No  other  singer  has  the  power, 

Of  all  the  throng, 
Dear  one,  to  lure  me  from  your  side 

And  your  sweet  song. 
Your  song,  so  tender,  sweet,  and  true, 

My  soul  awakes  ; 
My  voice  helps  swell  the  melody 

Your  music  makes. 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL 


Only  a  Little  Waiting 

ONLY  a  few  more  miles ;  only  a  little  way ; 
Heaven  and  home  are  just  ahead,  waiting  at  close 

of  day. 

Only  a  few  more  days,  a  few  more  sighs  and  tears, 
A  few  more  stony  hills  to  climb,  a  few  more  doubts 

and  fears. 

Only  a  few  more  joys,  a  few  more  sunny  hours, 

A  few  more  verdant  hills  to  cross,  a  few  more  fra- 
grant flowers ; 

Only  a  few  more  smiles,  a  few  more  songs  to  sing ; 

A  few  more  hours  of  sun  and  shade  the  journey's 
end  will  bring. 

Only  a  few  more  friends,  to  meet  and  know  and  love; 
A  few  more  partings,    then   the  joy  of  greetings 

sweet  above ; 

A  few  more  days  of  toil,  of  earnest,  weary  quest ; 
A  few  more  waking,  watchful  hours,  and  then  to 

sleep — and  rest. 


10  JUST  JINGLES 


To  a  Gutt 

SOUL  of  bereaved  one,  troubled  and  tossed, 

Searching  the  sea  for  the  one  who  was  lost, 

Skimming  the  air  or  riding  the  wave, 

Seeking  forever  that  precious  one's  grave — 

Bird  of  the  sea,  is  it  true,  is  it  true, 

That  the  soul  of  some  mourning  one  lives  within 


Whom  art  thou  seeking?  some  brother  or  son 

Who  sank  to  his  rest  ere  his  voyage  was  done? 

Or  was  it  a  husband,  or  lover  so  brave, 

Who  found  an  unmarked  and  untended  grave  ? 

Bird  of  the  sea,  is  it  true,  is  it  true, 

That  the  sea  holds  the  one  who  is  dearest  to  you? 

Bird  of  the  sea,  when  the  dismal  winds  wail 
And  the  breast  of  the  ocean  is  swept  by  the  gale, 
When  the  demons  of  storm  in  their  fierce  anger 

rave, 
And   you   sink,    'neath  their  wrath,    to  a  watery 

grave— 

Bird  of  the  sea,  is  it  true,  is  it  true, 
That  the  loved  and  the  lost  you  find  waiting  for 

you? 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL 


In  the  Afterglow 

A  MESSAGE  I  hold  from  my  love,  my  love, 

Who  lies  in  the  churchyard  sleeping — 
A  message  sweet  that  hid  at  my  feet 

As  I  stood  by  her  lone  grave  weeping — 
A  missive  sweet  in  a  violet  blue, 
Saying,  ' '  My  love,  I  am  ever  true, 
Watching  ever,  and  waiting  for  you  ; 
In  Heaven  my  vigil  keeping." 

Ah,  delicate,  beautiful  message  rare, 

A  fond  and  endearing  token ; 
A  thought  in  bloom,  to  dispel  the  gloom 
Of  a  heart  that  is  well-nigh  broken  ; 
Thrust  from  the  cold  and  mold  below, 
A  messenger  sweet,  to  let  me  know 
That  love  is  as  true  in  the  afterglow 
As  when  first  our  vows  were  spoken  ! 


12  JUST  JINGLES 


Why  I  Love  the  Stars 

WHY  do  I  love  the  stars  ?  Because  the  earth  has 
loved  them  so 

Since  first  they  sweetly  smiled  on  her,  long  cen- 
turies ago ; 

Because  they  shine  with  steady  light  —  are  constant, 
firm,  and  true ; 

Because,  my  love,  they  light  the  way  that  leads 
me  unto  you. 

Why  do  I  love  the  stars?     Because  the  poets  all 

have  sung 
Their  songs  of  love  to  those  bright  gems  since  this 

old  world  was  young  ; 
Because  the  stars  have  been  the  theme  of  songs  so 

grand  and  sweet : 
With  adoration,  too,  and  song,  their  welcome  light 

I  greet. 

Why  do  I  love  the  stars?     Because  all  lovers  love 

them  too, 
And  hand  in  hand  have  wandered  in  their  light 

since  earth  was  new ; 
Because,  while  shedding  their  soft  light  on  every 

land  and  sea, 
They  still  have  left  a  world  of  love  and  light  to 

shed  on  me. 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL  13 

Why  do  I  love  the  stars?     Because,  when  far  from 

you,  my  love, 
I  know  your  eyes,  as  mine,  are  turned  to  those 

bright  worlds  above ; 
So,  most  of  all,  I  love  the  stars  because  you  love 

them  too, 
And  their  bright  beams  bring  thoughts  and  dreams 

and  memories  of  you. 


14  JUST  JINGLES 


When  the  Heart  Speaks 

WORDS  are  vain  and  useless  things — 

Sounds  that  fret  the  ear. 
Lips  and  tongue  may  silent  be ; 
Soul  and  thought  still  wander  free. 
What  are  words  to  me,  or  thee, 

When  the  heart  speaks,  dear? 

Silence  waxes  eloquent 

When  thou,  l6ve,  art  near; 

Soul  to  soul  its  message  brings; 

Thought  meets  thought  on  fairy  wings. 

Words  are  vain  and  useless  things 
When  the  heart  speaks,  dear. 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL  15 


Maidens  Three 

A  FAIR  maid  was  Fortune,  so  fair,  I  declare, 

I  was  tempted  to  woo,  to  my  ruing. 
Though  often  she'd  smile  and  beguile  for  a  while 
My  heart,  oh  !   I  found  by  my  wooing, 
That  Fortune  was  fickle, 

Her  smiles  were  a  snare, 
Her  beauty  deceiving, 
Her  promises — air. 

Ah  !  Fame,  stately  Fame,  lured  me  next,  with  pretext 

Of  a  friendship  both  strong  and  enduring. 
Deluded,  I  fell  'neath  the  spell  of  this  belle, 
But  her  smiles  were  as  false  as  alluring. 
And  Fame,  too,  was  fickle ; 

My  wooing  was  vain  ; 
Her  friendship  brought  nothing 
But  sorrow  and  pain. 

tA  sweet,  tender  maiden  drew  near,  with  a  tear 

Of  compassion  her  fair  cheek  adorning. 
A  glance  of  her  shy,  tender  eye,  and  a  sigh 
For  my  sorrow,  turned  night  into  morning ; 
For  Love  with  sweet  pity 

And  cheering  words  came, 
And  won  my  allegiance 
From  Fortune  and  Fame. 


16  JUST  JINGLES 


Echoes 

ALL  of  the  songs  have  once  been  sung ; 

For  Music  had  her  birth 
Ages  ago,  when  Time  was  young  — 
When  Joy  and  Sorrow  first  found  tongue, 

And  Love  came  down  to  earth. 

All  of  the  tales  have  once  been  told ; 

For  all  of  joy  or  pain 
That  pens  of  poets  now  unfold 
Has  lived  in  hearts  of  men  of  old  — 

Are  tales  but  told  again. 

All  of  the  rhythm  and  the  rhyme 

That  bards  and  poets  know, 
All  the  melody,  sweet,  sublime, 
But  echoes  are,  flung  back  by  Time, 

From  the  realms  of  Long  Ago. 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL  17 


When  I  Meet  You  Again 

THE  wind  sighs  drear  in  the  mountain ; 

The  song  of  the  robin  is  sad  ; 
The  brook  trills  a  sorrowful  ditty ; 

The  sunshine  no  longer  is  glad ; 
All  nature  is  sighing  and  moaning  ; 

And  my  heart,  it  is  heavy  with  pain ; — 
My  pathway  will  lie  in  the  shadows 

Till  I  meet  you,  my  darling,  again. 

The  wind  sighs  drear  in  the  mountain ; 

It  moans  in  the  tree  tops  below ; 
It  wails  as  it  sweeps  past  the  cottage — 

It  knows  you  are  absent,  I  know  ; 
The  bluebird  is  grieving  and  moaning ; 

The  lark  sings  a  plaintive  refrain  ; 
And  my  heart  will  beat  time  to  their  sadness 

Till  I  meet  you,  my  darling,  again. 

When  I  meet  you  again,  my  darling, 

The  world  will  awaken  to  song ; 
The  birds,  the  brook,  and  the  soft  winds, 

The  musical  notes  will  prolong ; 
The  clouds  and  shadows  will  vanish, 

And  my  sad  heart  will  lose  all  its  pain; — 
The  sunshine  will  gladden  my  pathway 

When  I  meet  you,  my  darling,  again. 


18  JUST  JINGLES 


\Ve  Meet  Again 

I  HAVE  met  you  again,  my  darling, 

And  the  world  has  awakened  to  song. 
The  absence  has  all  been  forgotten  — 

That  absence  so  bitter  and  long. 
The  sunshine  that's  flooding  the  valley 

No  longer  is  streaming  in  vain, 
For  my  heart,  like  the  world,  is  illumined;  — 

I  have  met  you,  my  darling,  again. 

The  pain  and  the  sorrow  of  parting 

Are  drowned  in  a  rapturous  bliss. 
Ah  !  'twere  worth  all  the  pangs  of  the  parting 

To  know  such  a  pleasure  as  this. 
Gone,  gone,  are  the  heartaches  and  longings ; 

Gone,  gone,  all  the  torture  and  pain ; 
And  life  is  again  worth  the  living ; — 

I  have  met  you,  my  darling,  again. 

The  sad  wind  that  once  sighed  so  dreary, 

Now  whispers  sweet  strains  to  the  trees ; 
And  the  joyous  notes  of  the  robin 

Float  down  on  the  soft  autumn  breeze ; 
The  lark  and  the  bluebird  and  linnet 

Break  forth  in  a  happy  refrain ; 
And  my  heart,  like  all  nature,  is  singing;  — 

I  have  met  you,  my  darling,  again. 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL  19 


Sweetbrier 

SOME  wait  for  the  lily,  and  some  for  the  rose  ; 
But  I  bide  my  time  till  the  sweetbrier  blows  ; 
For  down  in  the  meadow,  mid  fragrance  and  dew, 
I  first  won  a  promise,  my  true  love,  from  you. 

Sweetbrier  and  dew, — 

Rare  skies  of  blue, — 
A  smile  and  a  kiss  and  a  promise  from  you. 

A  smile  and  a  kiss  and  a  pledge  to  be  true  ; 
A  bud  from  the  sweetbrier — a  token  from  you 
That  when  once  again  the  brier  blossoms  hide 
Mid  settings  of  green  I  may  claim  my  fair  bride. 

Sweetbrier  and  dew, — 

Rare  skies  of  blue, — 
'Tis  then  I  am  coming,  my  darling,  for  you. 

O  breath  of  the  springtime,  your  soft  air  I  bless ; 
You  wake  the  sweetbrier  with  your  tender  caress : 
And  May,  with  your  sunshine,  most  gladly  I  greet 
You  tempt  into  blossom  my  brier  bush  sweet. 
Sunshine  and  dew, 
Rare  skies  of  -blue, 
Are  bringing  me  nearer,  my  darling,  to  you. 


20  JUST  JINGLES 

Some  wait  for  the  lily,  and  some  for  the  rose ; 

But  I  bide  my  time  till  the  sweetbrier  blows. 

The  first  gleam  of  green  leaves,  the  first  bud  in 

view, 

The  first  breath  of  fragrance  will  take  me  to  you. 
Sweetbrier  and  dew, — 
Rare  skies  of  blue, — 
Yes,  fragrance  and  flowers  will  bring  me  to  you. 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL  21 


A  Truant  Song 

THERE  woke  within  my  heart  one  morn 
An  inspiration,  sweet,  sublime  — 

A  rhapsody,  a  song  unborn, 
A  prophecy  of  dulcet  rhyme. 

I  took  my  lyre  and  touched  the  strings, 
And  caught  one  sweet,  exquisite  strain, 

When  from  my  soul  on  startled  wings 
It  swiftly  sped  —  my  rare  refrain. 

In  vain  I  sought  my  truant  song ; 

The  music  from  my  heart  had  fled  ; 
My  lyre,  that  voice  so  sweet  and  strong, 

Was  silent  too ;  its  muse  was  dead. 


Though  other  strains  have  woke  my  lyre, 
And  other  songs  have  stirred  my  tongue, 

E'en  now  I  most  of  all  desire 
To  find  again  my  truant  song. 


22  JUST  JINGLES 


A  Valentine 

I  WISH  not  a  valentine  gaily  bedecked 

With  cupids  and  ribbons  aflutter, 
With  sweet  turtledoves  and  hand-painted  loves, 

And  the  rhythmical  nonsense  they  utter; 
One  glance  in  the  depths  of  your  dreamy  blue  eyes, 

•One  word  by  your  lips  softly  spoken, 
Were  better  by  far  than  all  valentines  are, 

No  matter  how  "costly  the  token. 

I  ask  not  a  missive  with  arrow-pierced  hearts, 

And  lovers'  knots  tied  a  la  Cupid, 
With  typewritten  trash  and  poetical  hash 

Served  up  by  the  witty  or  stupid ; 
One  brief  billet-doux  is  all  that  I  crave, 

A  note  of  your  own  sweet  inditing, 
A  crisp  little  line  to  say  you'll  be  mine, 

Inscribed  in  your  own  dear  handwriting. 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL  23 


The  Leafless  Tree 

AMID  the  blasts  of  winter's  wrath, 

With  arms  outstretched  and  bare, 
Of  all  its  verdant  glory  shorn  — 

The  picture  of  despair — 
Alone,  forsaken,  on  the  plain, 

Stands  now  the  leafless  tree, 
A  monument  of  what  has  been 

And  what  again  will  be. 

When  clothed  in  lavish  robes  of  green, 

Beneath  its  welcome  shade, 
All  through  the  sunny  summer  days, 

The  merry  children  played  ; 
And  oft,  in  balmy  moonlight  nights, 

Beneath  its  screening  boughs 
Have  loving  lads  and  lassies  paused 

To  breathe  their  tender  vows. 

Now  bare  it  stands,  unsought  by  all 

Who  once  its  shelter  knew  ; 
For  outward  glory,  when  'tis  gone, 

Leaves  one,  of  friends,  but  few. 
Still  bravely  stands  the  tree  upright, 

Defying  winter's  chill, 
For  hearts  of  oak  are  far  too  strong 

For  winter's  storms  to  kill. 


24  JUST  JINGLES 

Old  tree,  the  dreary  days  will  pass, 

And  spring  will  come  again  ; 
And  in  the  joy  of  bursting  bud 

Will  vanish  winter's  pain. 
One  heart  still  loves  thy  leafless  form, 

For  in  it  I  can  see 
A  monument  of  what  has  been 

And  what  again  will  be. 


SERIOUS  AND  SENTIMENTAL  25 


Keep  Singing  Your  Song 

SOME  days  must  be  dark,  and  some  nights  must  be 

dreary ; 
Some  roads  must  be  rough,  and  some  ways  must  be 

weary ; 

But  never  despair ; 
Some  days  will  be  fair ; 

Just  breathe  a  sweet  song  of  good  cheer  on  the  air ; 
Press  steadily,  faithfully,  ever  along  : 
Keep  singing  your  song ;  keep  singing  your  song. 

No  day,   howe'er  dark,  but  your  song  will  make 

brighter, 

No  burden  so  heavy  but  it  will  grow  lighter, 
If,  gentle  and  clear, 
Your  glad  notes  of  cheer 
Flow  out  from  a  heart  that  is  true  and  sincere. 
Press  on  with  a  will,  and  your  music  prolong  : 
Keep  singing  your  song  ;    keep  singing  your  song. 

Keep  singing  your  song ;    keep  the  sweet   music 

ringing ; 
Some  brother  distressed   may  take  heart  at  your 

singing ; 


26  JUST  JINGLES 

Some  soul  by  the  way, 
O'ercome  in  the  fray, 

Some  wandering  one  from  the  path  gone  astray, 
The  music  may  hear  and  be  cheered  and  made 

strong : 
Keep  singing  your  song ;  keep  singing  your  song. 


SONGS  OF  NATURE  AND 
THE  SEASONS 


SONGS  OF  NATURE  AND 
THE  SEASONS 


The  Seasons 

WHEN  springtime's  sunshine  tints  the  vale 

And  gilds  the  mountain's  splendor, 
And  birds  are  calling  to  their  mates 

In  notes  so  soft  and  tender, — 
When  springtime's  warmth  into  the  earth 

Is  slowly,  softly  creeping, 
And,  gently  touching  hidden  flowers, 

Awakes  them  from  their  sleeping, — 
'Tis  then  my  soul  is  filled  with  joy, 

My  mouth  is  filled  with  singing, 
My  heart  is  full  and  running  o'er 

With  pleasures  life  is  bringing. 

When  summer's  sun  and  summer's  rain 
Have  ripened  springtime  sowing, 

When  golden  grain  and  waving  grass 
I  see  the  toilers  mowing, 

When  browsing  herds  seek  shady  nooks, 
And  'neath  green  trees  are  resting, 


JUST  JINGLES 

And  when  the  birds  their  mates  have  found 
And  on  the  branch  are  nesting, — 

'Tis  then  I  praise  fair  Nature's  ways 
For  her  most  lavish  giving, 

'Tis  then  I  feel  a  thrilling  joy — 
The  joy  of  simply  living. 

When  autumn  comes  with  garnered  sheaves, 

And  storehouse  filled  to  bursting, 
With  purple  grape  and  mellow  fruit, 

And  cider  for  the  thirsting, 
And  gaudy  tree  with  crimson  leaf, 

And  corn  all  ripe  for  cutting, 
And  boys  and  girls — and  squirrels  too  — 

All  eager  to  go  nutting, — 
'Tis  then  I  feel  a  well  of  joy 

Within  my  bosom  springing  ; 
I  raise  my  voice  and  heart  in  thanks 

For  gifts  that  autumn's  bringing. 

When  winter's  chill  is  in  the  air 

And  winter's  winds  are  sighing, 
When  on  the  hill  and  o'er  the  vale 

The  drifting  snow  is  lying, 
When  on  the  street  I  hear  the  noise 

Of  merry  sleighbells  jingling, 
And  when  I  breathe  that  bracing  air 

That  sets  the  blood  a-tingling, — 


SONGS  OF  NATURE  AND  THE  SEASONS        33 

'Tis  then  I  breathe  a  prayer  of  praise, 

And  tune  my  voice  to  singing 
In  thanks  for  mercies  past  and  those 

The  future  bright  is  bringing. 


34  JUST  JINGLES 


Autumn  Days 


WHO  calls  'em  "melancholy  days,  the  saddest  of 

the  year"  ? 
Why,  land  o'  sakes !  the  autumn's  full  an'  runnin' 

o'er  with  cheer. 
The  garnered  crops  air  in  the  barn,  the  apples  in 

the  bin, 
An',  like  the  "lilies  of  the  field,"  we  neither  toil  nor 

spin. 
Bring  out  the  old  corn  popper, 

Put  apples  on  the  table ; 
We'll  dance  an'  sing  an'  eat  our  fill  — 
Take  comfort  while  we're  able. 

Throw  fuel  on  the  roarin'  blaze;  beside  its  ruddy 

glow 
We'll   listen    to  entrancin'    tales   of  magic    "long 

ago." 

Put  nuts  to  roastin'  on  the  hearth  ;  invite  the  neigh- 
bors in  ; 
Take  down  the  fiddle,  strike  the  tune,   an'   let  the 

fun  begin. 
Shake  up  the  old  corn  popper 

An'  keep  the  corn  a-toastin' ; 
Rake  out  the  coals  upon  the  hearth 
An'  put  the  nuts  to  roastin'. 


SONGS  OF  NATURE  AND  THE  SEASONS        35 

The  turkey's  in  the  roastin'  pan,  the  chicken's  in 

the  pot, 
The  sparerib's  in  the  oven  ;  an',  when  the  table's 

sot, 
I'd  like  to  find  the  feller  sharp  enough  to  find  a 

trace 
O'   sad   or  melancholy  days   a-hangin'   round  my 

place. 
Jes'  pass  the  meat  an'  taters ; 

Eat  hearty  an'  be  jolly  ; 
With  friends  to  greet,  an'  lots  to  eat, 
Who  cares  for  melancholy  ? 


36  JUST  JINGLES 


Fair  Time 

'Tis  fair  time  and  spare  time,  the  farmer's  time  to 

play, 

And  Labor  dons  his  best  attire  and  takes  a  holiday. 
There's  father  with  his  Sunday  suit,  and  mother 

perk  and  prim, 
And  Jonathan  the  hired  man  —  the  hired  girl  with 

him. 
Oh,  my  !  look  at  the  pumpkins — 

Nuggets  of  Klondike  size  ! 
Their  yellow  coats  remind  our  throats 
Of  mother's  luscious  pies. 

'  Tis  fair  time  and  rare  time,  and  time  to  take  a  rest 
And  lay  on  Labor's  altar  of  nature's  fruits  the  best : 
Bring  sleek  and  blpoded  cattle,  and  steeds  of  royal 

line, 
And  sheep  and  pigs  of  pedigree,  and  fowls  with 

plumage  fine. 

Oh,  my  !  look  at  that  turkey  ! 
Thanksgiving's  just  ahead  ; 
Alive  he's  fine,  but  how  divine 
He'll  look  when  he  is  dead. 


SCWG5  OF  NATURE  AND  THE  SEASONS        37 

'Tis  fair  time  and  stare   time — time  to  feast  the 

eyes — 

Time  to  gaze  about  you  in  wonder  and  surprise — 
Time,   ye  thrifty  housewives  of  neighborhood  re- 
pute, 
To  bring  your  golden  butter,  preserves,  and  pickled 

fruit. 
My  !  look  at  those  canned  peaches  ! 

Sakes  !  gaze  at  that  cream  cheese ! 
Who  cannot  find  things  to  his  mind 
Is  difficult  to  please. 

'Tis  fair  time  and  spare  time,  the  farmer's  time  to 

play, 

And  Labor  dons  his  best  attire  and  takes  a  holiday  — 
A  festival  of  harvest,  a  brilliant,  rare  display 
Of  cunning,  skill,   and  patient  toil,   spread  out  in 

grand  array. 

Here,  then,  is  to  the  farmer, 
The  monarch  of  the  soil : 
May  nature  bless  with  rare  success, 
And  recompense  his  toil. 


38  JUST  JINGLES 


December 

OH,   December  is  a  jolly  month  a-brimmin'  o'er 

with  joys — 
With  skatin'  an'  with  sleighin'  fer  all  the  girls  an' 

boys, 
With  the  music  of  their  laughter,  an'  the  merry 

bells  thet  jingle, 
An'  the  watchin'  an'  the  waitin'  fer  thet  jolly  old 

Kris  Kringle. 

Oh,  the  frosty  flakes  a-flyin'  an'  a-flittin'  through 

the  air, 
An'  the  hurry  an'  the  scurry  of  the  cutters  ev'ry- 

where, 
An'   the  bracin',   bitin'   breezes  thet  jest  sets  the 

blood  atingle, 
An'  the  watchin'  an'  the  waitin'  fer  thet  jolly  old 

Kris  Kringle  ! 

An'  oh,  'tis  in  December  thet  all  the  kinfolks  dear 

Drift  in  at  the  old  homestead  to  partake  of  Christ- 
mas cheer ; 

An'  the  music  of  their  laughter  an'  the  noise  of 
chatter  mingle 

As  they  sit  before  the  fireplace  waitin'  fer  thet  old 
Kris  Kringle. 


SONGS  OF  NATURE  AND  THE  SEASONS        39 

Oh,  jest  give  me  old  December  with  its  bluster  an 

its  blow, 
With  the  hills  an'  valleys  sparklin'  with  their  cov- 

erin'  of  snow, 
With  its  crisp  an'  frosty  atmosphere,  thet  makes 

the  warm  blood  tingle, 
An'   the  watchin'  an'  the  waitin'  fer  thet  jolly  old 

Kris  Kringle. 


40  JUST  JINGLES 


Whiter 

THE  frost  is  on  the  tree  twig, 

The  frost  is  on  the  pane ; 
The  grimy  street  is  covered 

With  clean  white  snow  again  ; 
The  bells  begin  to  jingle, 

The  sleighs  begin  to  glide ; 
The  boys  and  girls  get  out  their  sleds 
To 

take 

a 
little 

slide. 

The  sled  flings  snow  before  it 

As  down  the  hill  it  skips ; 
The  breeze  flies  swiftly  by  them, 

And  nose  and  ear  it  nips  ; 
Their  cheeks  get  red  and  redder, 

They  shout  with  might  and  main  ; 
They  quickly  reach  the  bottom, 
again, 
up 
back 
climb 
Then 


SONGS  OF  NATURE  AND  THE  SEASONS        41 

'Tig"  thus  in  life's  long  journey: 

In  labor,  as  in  play, 
We  seldom  find  a  level  road 

To  take  us  on  our  way  ; 
We've  hills  to  climb  with  toiling, 

And  oft  a  level  plain, — 
A  valley  and  a  mountain  : 

and 
up  down 

'Tis  again. 


42  JUST  JINGLES 


A  Springtime  Song 

AH  !    the   birds    are    swinging,    singing   mid    the 

nodding,  bending  trees, 
And  the  echo  of  their  sweet  notes  gently  floats 

adown  the  breeze. 

There  is  hint  of  mint  and  myrtle  in  the  aromatic  air ; 
There  is  stream  and  gleam  of  sunshine;  there  is 

beauty  everywhere. 

All  around  the  sound  of  springtime  falls  entrancing 

on  the  ear, 
And  my  heart  is  madly,  gladly  leaping  to  the  music 

clear. 
There   is   time  and  rhyme  and  sweetness  in  the 

happy  springtime  song 
That  is  sounding  and  resounding  and  abounding 

all  day  long. 

Winter's  snow  and  blow  have  vanished;  and  the 

world  begins  anew, 
And,  replete  with  sweet  profusion,  brings  her  many 

charms  to  view ; 
And  she  wakes  and  takes  the  sweetness  that  to 

springtime  months  belong, 
And  she  weaves  the  balm  and  beauty  into  one  grand, 

tuneful  song. 


SCWGS  OF  NATURE  AND  THE  SEASONS        43 


Two  Songs  of  May 


DAISIES  and  buttercups,  fields  full  of  clover, 
Grassy  green  billows  in  which  to  roll  over, 

Days  full  of  sunshine — sweet  songs  by  the  way, — 
Who  lacks  a  welcome  for  bright,  sunny  May? 

Orchards  of  bloom  wet  with  dews  of  the  morning  — 
Sweet,  liquid  gems,  their  rare  beauty  adorning, — 

White  blossoms,  pink  blossoms,  modest  or  gay, — 
Who  lacks  a  welcome  for  sweet-scented  May? 

Spice  of  the  woodland  adown  the  breeze  drifting, 
Health-giving  sunlight  through  leafy  screens  sift- 
ing, 

Luxuriant  landscapes  in  charming  array, — 
Who  lacks  a  welcome  for  rare-tinted  May  ? 

Brooks  running  over  with  laughter  and  singing, 
Echoes  gone  mad,  back  the  glad  music  flinging, 

Sunshine  and  perfume  and  song  all  the  day, — 
Who  lacks  a  welcome  for  musical  May? 


44  JUST  JINGLES 

II 

A  BURST  of  melody  divine 

From  where  the  leafy  branches  sway, 
A  glimpse  of  blue — sweet  violets — 

Amid  the  grasses  by  the  way, 
A  breath  of  perfume  on  the  breeze, 

The  vagrant  brook's  soft,  liquid  lay, — 
And  this  is  May. 

A  sheeny  glimmer  on  the  lake, 

Where  soft  and  dancing  sunbeams  play, 

A  hazy,  mazy,  shifting  cloud 
Of  giddy,  basking  insects  gay  ; 

A  medley  rare  of  scent  and  sound, 
A  dream  of  sweetness  all  the  day, — 
And  this  is  May. 


SONGS  OF  NATURE  AND  THE  SEASONS         45 


Spoil-laden 

HOME  from  the  chase,  the  slaughtered  deer 

Across  the  boat's  thwart  lying; 
Back  to  the  camp,  where  hunters  wait, 

Each  with  the  other  vying 
In  tales  of  prowess,  feats  of  skill, 

And  each  with  pride  displaying 
The  trophies  of  the  morning's  sport  — 

The  game  of  his  own  slaying. 

The  ruddy  campfire's  cheerful  glow 

The  sunshine  soon  replaces  ; 
Alternate  light  and  shade  is  thrown 

Upon  the  happy  faces 
That  gather  round  the  welcome  blaze 

The  morning's  sports  reviewing, — 
And  then  to  sleep,  and  in  their  dreams 

The  game  again  pursuing. 

The  flaring  of  the  dying  flame 

Sets  all  the  shadows  dancing ; 
And  blacker  grows  the  shades  of  night 

As,  steadily  advancing,- 
They  fold  the  tent  in  midnight's  robes 

And  quench  the  campfire's  gleaming. 
And  nature,  like  the  hunters,  soon 

Is  hushed  in  idle  dreaming. 


46  JUST  JINGLES 


Song  of  the  Plow 

PIERCE  the  earth,  O  point  of  steel ! 
Bring  the  fertile  soil  to  light ; 
Hide  the  stubble  whereon  grew 
Last  year's  bounty,  from  the  sight ; 

Cover  all  the  past  from  view ; 

We  are  seeking  treasures  new. 

Pierce  the  earth  and  cleave  the  turf; 

Roll  the  rich  soil  from  the  share ; 

Let  the  earthy  odors  rise 

Like  sweet  incense  on  the  air ; 

Loose  the  hidden  powers  below  — 
Powers  that  make  the  rich  grains  grow. 

Scar  the  earth,  O  shining  steel ! 

You  will  labor  not  in  vain, 

Though  your  marks  will  hidden  be 

By  the  fields  of  waving  grain  ; 

Earth,  like  hearts,  must  furrowed  be, 
Ere  the  flowers  or  fruit  we  see. 


SONGS  OF  NATURE  AND  THE  SEASONS        47 


The  Lake  at  Sunset 

THE  glaring  sun  has  sought  the  mists  that  hover  in 
the  west ; 

The  wanton  wind  has  tired  of  play  and  gently  sunk 
to  rest ; 

The  lake  lies  placid  mid  the  fields  and  rugged,  tree- 
clad  hills, 

Fed  by  the  river  of  the  plain  and  singing  mountain 
rills. 

Belated  swallows  gaily  skim  its  waters  clear  and 
bright  ; 

And  far  across  its  calm  expanse  the  golden,  glan- 
cing light  — 

Th'e  parting  kiss  of  the  warm  sun — spreads  glory 
on  the  scene, 

And  tints  with  gold  the  verdant  tinge  cast  by  the 
forest  green. 

The  sun  slips  gently  out  of  sight  adown  the  western 

sky, 
And  darker  grow  the  shadows  that  upon  the  waters 

lie; 
The  swallows  seek  their  forest  homes  and  chirp 

themselves  to  rest, 
And  birds  of  night  come  forth  to  sport  above  the 

lake's  calm  breast. 


48  JUST  JINGLES 

The  gold  fades  from  the  sunset  sky  ;  the  bright  stars 

gleam  and  glow, 
And  view  their  sparkling,    mirrored  forms  within 

the  lake  below ; 
A  passing  breeze  the  calm  lake  stirs,   with  tender 

touch  and  light ; 
And  rippling  echoes  seem  to  breathe  the  world  a 

a  fond  good-night. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT 


Tidings 

THOUGH  tidings  ill  must  oftentimes  intrude, 
The  messenger  ne'er  earns  our  gratitude. 


Beneath  a  purpled  canopy,  all  day 

Upon  his  dais  Egypt's  monarch  lay  ; 

And  from  the  palace  top,  with  eager  eyes 

He  watched  the  point  where  earth  and  eastern  skies 

Seemed  joined  as  one,  for  there  would  first  appear 

The  messenger,  to  pour  into  his  ear 

The  news  of  battle.      Half  the  day  had  passed 

When  from  the  east  a  herald  came  at  last : 

A  tiny  speck  first,  'gainst  the  azure  sky ; 

A  blot  of  black  anon ;  and  then,  drawn  nigh, 

A  gaunt  and  fainting  form  that,  swaying,  still 

Pressed  on  to  bear  the  message,  good  or  ill. 


54  JUST  JINGLES 

Up  sprang  the  eager  monarch  from  his  bed 
And  met  the  faithful  man.    ' '  What  news  ?  "  he  said 
"Are  Egypt's  hosts  triumphant  in  the  fray?" 
With  drooping  head  the  herald  answered,   "  Nay." 
' '  Nay  ?    Dog !  and  bringest  thou  that  word  to  me  ?" 
"E'en  so,  O  king,  for  Egypt's  armies  flee." 
The  angry  king  rained  curses  on  his  head  — 
A  flash  of  steel  —  the  messenger  lay  dead. 


The  day  grew  old,  when,  lo !  another  came 
With  message  of  defeat :  his  fate  the  same. 
And  when  the  shadows  stretched  across  the  plain, 
Another  still  was  numbered  with  the  slain. 


The  shadows  thickened.     Night  succeeded  day. 

Beneath  the  monarch's  gaze,  all  silent,  lay 

The  sleeping  city  ;  black  the  clouds  o'erhead, 

And  by  his  side,  in  calm  repose,  the  dead. 

The  weary  hours  passed  slowly,  one  by  one, 

Until  the  noon  of  night.     At  last  he  hears 

Approaching  steps.     Another  herald  nears. 

The  steps  are  not  of  haste  ;  but  measured,  slow, 

They  firmly  fall  upon  the  flags  below. 

The  anxious  watcher  rises  to  his  feet 

And  forward  steps,  the  messenger  to  meet. 

' '  What  message  bring  ye  ? "    "  This :    The  tide  hath 

turned, 
And  Egypt's  hosts  the  enemy  have  spurned." 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  55 

The  monarch  from  his  arm  a  bracelet  takes : 
"Wear  this,"  he  cries;    "a  bauble,  but  it  makes 
The  wearer  henceforth  bearer  of  my  cup, 
And  to  a  rank  exalted  lifts  him  up." 


Who  brings  us  welcome  news  we  aye  commend, 
And  call  him  by  the  sacred  name  of  friend. 


56  JUST  JINGLES 


The  Old  Home 

You  talk  about  your  palaces 

Fixed  out  in  modern  style, 
With  roofs  of  slate  an'  brownstone  fronts 

An'  floors  all  laid  in  tile, 
With  water  hot,  an'  water  cold, 

An'  steam  instead  of  fire, 
An'  all  the  modern  gimcrack  things 

A  body  could  desire : 
Them  kind  o'  buildin's  are  all  right, 

But  somehow  don't  tempt  me; 
I  like  the  old-style  houses  best, 

Jest  like  they  used  to  be. 

Give  me  the  old-time  cabin  home 

Amid  its  bed  o'  flowers, 
Where  first  I  saw  the  light  o'  day 

An'  spent  my  boyhood's  hours, 
The  fields  o'  green  grass  all  around 

In  which  I  used  to  roll, 
An'  let  the  streamin'  sunlight  warm 

Shine  through  upon  my  soul ; 
An'  then  the  tangled  wildwood  near, 

The  air  so  pure  an'  free, 
A  hundred  thousand  birds  or  so 

A-singin'  songs  to  me. 


Give  me  the  old-time  cabin  home 
Amid  its  bed  o1  flowers. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  57 

Oh,  palaces  ain't  in  it  much 

Along  o'  my  old  home, 
With  meadows  wide  on  every  side, 

An'  room  to  romp  and  roam. 
I  wouldn't  trade  the  balmy  air 

An'  scent  o'  flowers  so  sweet 
Fer  all  the  brownstone  palaces 

Upon  a  city  street. 
It  sets  my  heart  to  achin'  like 

Fer  childhood's  days  once  more, 
An'  a  sight  o'  that  old  cabin, 

With  posies  'bout  the  door. 


58  JUST  JINGLES 


Memorial 

A  SONG  in  the  fulness  of  springtime ; 

A  tribute  of  love  to  the  brave  ; 
A  wealth  of  God's  fair,  fragrant  blossoms 

To  lay  on  each  dead  hero's  grave ; 
A  nation  all  eager  to  honor, 

On  this  our  Memorial  Day, 
The  soldiers  who  sleep  'neath  the  roses 

We  shower  o'er  the  blue  and  the  gray. 

We  give  you  a  wreath  of  God's  blossoms ; 

And  over  each  dear,  sacred  grave 
The  banner  you  fought  for  and  died  for 

Shall  proudly  and  peacefully  wave. 
We  have  pride  for  the  land  that  you  saved  us ; 

We  have  love  for  the  flag  that  you  bore  ; 
We've  a  tear,  and  a  sigh,  and  a  heartache 

For  the  brave  lads  we'll  see  nevermore. 

We  give  you  a  wreath  of  God's  blossoms, 

And  we  murmur,  "God  bless  you  !"  and  go. 
The  love  and  devotion  we  offer 

Disturbs  not  your  resting  below. 
Then  sleep  in  the  soil  you  made  sacred 

By  the  blood  which  you  gallantly  shed, 
While  we  breathe  benedictions  above  you 

And  weep  o'er  the  ones  that  are  dead. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  59 


Oh  To  Be  a  Boy  Again! 

OH  to  be  a  boy  again, 

Now  fishing  time  has  come ; 
To  get  away  from  driving  toil 

And  traffic's  busy  hum  ; 
To  take  my  line  and  hickory  pole, 

And  sit  beside  the  stream, 
And  let  my  fish  line  idly  float 

The  while  I  sit  and  dream ! 

Oh  to  be  a  boy  again, 

Now  May  has  come  once  more  ; 
To  roam  the  fields  in  search  of  flowers 

As  in  the  days  of  yore  ; 
To  scour  the  wood  and  climb  the  trees 

And  chase  the  nimble  squirrel ; 
To  just  escape,  for  one  brief  day, 

From  business'  dizzy  whirl ! 

Oh  to  be  a  boy  again, 

And  old  companions  see  — 
The  boys  and  girls  of  childhood's  days, 

Who  were  so  dear  to  me ; 
To  revel  in  the  old-time  sports, 

And  breathe  the  balmy  air 
Of  shady  groves  and  running  streams, 

Away  from  toil  and  care ! 


JUST  JINGLES 


The  Horse  Fiddle 


'SPECT  the  folks  in  Genesee 
(  Thet's  where  my  home  usto  be) 
Haven't  all  on  'em  forgot 
(Some  scart  yit,  as  like  as  not) 
Time  us  boys,  one  summer's  night, 
Give  the  village  sech  a  fright. 

Back  o'  where  the  village  stands 
Air  the  elevated  lands 
Known  as  Langworthy's  Big  Hill, 
Owned  by  him  'at  owned  the  mill 
Down  by  the  other  side  o'  town, 
Where  his  youngest  boy  got  drown. 

There  was  me,  Dan,  Tom  an'  Bill, 
Sam  an'  Joe  clumb  up  thet  hill 
With  a  great  big  box  ;  an'  Dan 
Had  some  rosin  in  a  can. 
Time  thet  box  was  to  the  top 
We  was  tired  enough  to  stop. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  61 

Thet  boss  fiddle  !     Ever  make 
One?     Tell  ye  how.     You  jest  take 
An'  put  some  rosin  on  a  box, 
Then  draw  a  rail  acrost  it.     Jocks! 
'Twill  make  a  noise  to  wake  the  dead 
An'  make  a  live  man  lose  his  head. 


'Twas  'long  'bout  ten  o'clock,  I  s'pose, 
An'  folks  was  seekin'  their  repose, 
When  fust  we  drew  thet  rosined  rail 
Acrost  the  box.     My  !  what  a  wail 
The  old  thing  give  !     Then  we  pitched  in 
An'  made  thet  fiddle  howl  like  sin. 


Down  in  the  town,  I  heard  it  said, 
The  folks  come  tumblin'  out  o'  bed, 
An'  some  on  'em  begun  to  pray, 
Thinkin'  fer  sure  'twas  jedgment  day, 
An'  some  ran  wildly  in  the  street 
In  scant  attire  an'  bare  o'  feet. 


One  lad,  who  wasn't  in  our  fun, 
Had  started  home  up  Woodchuck  Run, 
When  thet  weird  wailin'  smote  his  ear 
An'  nearly  stopped  his  heart  with  fear. 
If 't  hadn't  been  fer  lack  o'  breath, 
I  believe  he'd  run  himself  to  death. 


JUST  JINGLES 

Old  Boozy  Ben  was  well  bowled  up, 
But  he  foreswore  the  poison  cup, 

Said  he'd  ne'er  drink  another  drop 
If  thet  blamed  thing  'ud  only  stop, 

An'  went  home  soberer,  they  say, 
Than  e'er  he  had  fer  many  a  day. 

Per  nigh  an'  hour,  er  thereabout, 
We  kept  it  up,  an'  then  dug  out ; 

But  half  the  folks  .set  up  all  night 
A-prayin'  fer  the  mornin'  light, 

An'  some  there  be  thet  to  this  day 

Think  Satan  came,  thet  night,  their  way. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  63 


The  Old  Meadow  Brook 

SOMETIMES  now  I  get  to  thinking  of  the  rippling 
meadow  brook, 

Where  in  childhood's  days  I  angled  with  the  worm- 
bait- hidden  hook ; 

And  I  seem  to  hear  the  music  of  the  pebble-fretted 
stream 

Floating  o'er  the  gulf  of  lost  years,  like  a  gentle, 
soothing  dream. 

I  can  see  myself,  an  urchin,  with  my  limber  green 
birch  pole, 

Stealing  cautious-like  and  silent  to  some  well-known 
fishing  hole, 

And  with  bated  breath,  all  eager,  drop  my  fish- 
enticing  hook 

In  the  purling,  curling  waters  of  that  dear  old 
meadow  brook. 

And  the  trout,  so  shy  and  wary,  with  his  speckled, 

glist'ning  side, 
When  from  out  his  secret  hiding  place  my  wriggling 

bait  he  spied, 
Would  -dart  with   lightning  swiftness,  and  would 

gobble  up  my  hook, 
And   then   find   himself  jerked   quickly  from   the 

laughing  meadow  brook. 


64  JUST  JINGLES 

And,  when  I  had  tired  of  angling,   and  the   fish 

would  bite  no  more, 
I  would  quickly  slip  from  out  my  clothes,  and  leave 

them  on  the  shore 
The  while  I  went  in  swimming  in  some  deep  and 

watery  nook 
Of  the   cool,    refreshing  waters   of  the   cleansing 

meadow  brook. 

Ah  !  the  years  have  swift  been  speeding  since  those 

happy  days  of  yore, 
And  now  other  merry  urchins  play  upon  the  grassy 

shore ; 
But  my  heart  is  filled  with  longing  once  again  to 

stand  and  look 
On  the  dancing,  gleaming  waters  of  the  dear  old 

meadow  brook. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  65 


Uncle  Dan 

UNCLE  DAN  is  long  at  rest ;  ruined  stands  the  an- 
cient mill ; 

Passed  from  memory,  almost,  as  the  rest  of  us  soon 
will. 

All  the  boys  loved  Uncle  Dan ;  always  cheerful, 
always  gay, 

And  was  ever  quick  to  join  and  to  lead  our  child- 
ish play. 

Time  had  bent  his  manly  form  ;  white  his  head,  made 
whiter  still 

By  the  sifting,  drifting  dust  of  the  grain  ground  in 
his  mill. 

What  a  wonder  was  that  mill,  with  its  busy  wheels 

awhirl, 
Driven    by   the   great    turbine   by  the  waters   set 

atwirl ! 
What  a  pleasure  to  explore  all  its  dusty  crannies 

queer, 
Pausing  in  some  dark  recess,  with  an  awe  akin  to 

fear, 
At  a  row  of  dust-white  posts,  like  some  grim  and 

ghostly  clan 
Waiting  eager  to  entrap  either  us  or  Uncle  Dan  ! 


66  JUST  JINGLES 

Ruined  stands  the  ancient  mill ; ,  Uncle  Dan  has 

gone  to  rest, 
And  the  violet  and  rose  long  have  blossomed  o'er 

his  breast; 
And   the  boys   are   scattered   far,  like   the  leaves 

before  the  breeze 
That  still  haunts  the  old  mill   site,   sighing   sadly 

'mong  the  trees. 
Still  the  idle,  wanton  stream  frets  the  pebble-studded 

shore, 
Where  the  whirling  wheels  once  woke  the  glad 

echoes  with  their  roar. 

When  I  reach  the  golden  shore,  I  doubt  not  that  I 

shall  see, 
In  some  quiet,  sheltered  nook,  with  the  children 

'bout  his  knee, 
Good,   kind-hearted  Uncle   Dan,   with  his  honest 

face  aglow, 
Happy  up  there  with  the  boys,  as  he  always  was 

below ; 

And  when  I  select  my  place  up  in  Heaven,  if  I  can, 
I  will  stop  among  the  boys,  by  the  side  of  Uncle 

Dan. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  67 


Old-time  Days 


THERE'S  a  world  o'  pleasant  mem'ries  cluster  round 
my  youthful  days, 

An'  it  sort  o'  sets  me  sighin'  fer  the  good  old-fash- 
ioned ways 

Thet  were  common  'mong  the  people  when  my 
youthful  bride  an'  me 

Launched  our  bark  upon  the  billows  of  life's  matri- 
monial sea. 

We  tuck  on  a  quite  a  cargo  in  thet  little  ship  o'  ours, 
But  it  wasn'  t  gold  nor  silver,  but  was  mostly  love 

an'  flowers ; 
We'd  a  deck   load  of  ambition   an'    of  hope  an' 

persevere, 
An'  while  freighted  with  such  cargo  our  small  craft 

wa'n't  hard  to  steer. 

I  suppose  the  people  now  days  at  our  simple  ways 

would  smile. 
We  gave  most  our  thoughts  to  comfort,  an'  but 

little  heed  to  style. 
Folks  weren't  courted  fer  position,  nor  fer  wealth, 

nor  yet  fer  birth, 
But  fer  gentleness  o'   manner,  an'  fer  honesty  an' 

worth. 


68  JUST  JINGLES 

When  we  got  an  invitation  to  some  social  or  infair, 
Didn't  have  to  stop  an'    wonder  whiche'er  outfit 

we  should  wear : 
No  !  the  matter  of  our  wardrobe  was  the  least  of  all 

our  woes ; 
All  we  had  to  do  in  them  days   was  put  on  our 

"other  clothes." 

Our  good  neighbors  wasn't  critical  about  our  style 

o'  dress, 
An'   about  departed  ancestors  they  cared  a  good 

deal  less. 
Our  society  four  hundred  took  in  every  one  we 

knew, 
Irrespective   of  his   station,  if  his  heart  was  only 

true. 

Yis,  I  like  to  let  my  mem'ry  wander  back  to  days 
o'  yore, 

An'  I  find  myself  a-wishin'  thet  them  times  were 
here  once  more  ; 

Though  they  lacked  the  style  an'  polish,  still  I  can- 
not help  but  praise 

Them  'ere  simple,  gentle  manners  of  the  good  old- 
fashioned  days. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  69 


AbdaUah's  Lesson 

ABDALLAH,  pious  above  all  mankind 

Who  dwelt  in  Mecca,  morning,  noon,  and  night 
His  voice  to  Allah  raised  in  prayer.     Contrite 

Was  he,  and  humble  —  pure  in  mind. 

Inspired  of  Heaven  he :  not  so  his  wife  ; 
She  daily  stood  the  market  place  within, 
And  bought  and  sold,  nor  deemed  it  any  sin 

To  mingle  there  in  scenes  of  toil  and  strife. 

While  thus  he  prayed,  she  earned  the  food  he  ate  ; 
But  oft  he  reprimanded  her.     Said  he : 
"Thou  shouldst  devote  thy  life  to  prayer,  like  me. 

Serve  not  thyself;  Allah,  alone,  is  great." 

At  last  his  words  sank  deep  into  her  heart. 

Said  she :  ' '  While  Allah  shall  my  poor  life  spare, 
My  voice  to  him  I'll  raise  in  holy  prayer. 

Henceforth  of  righteousness  I  am  a  part. ' ' 

AbdaUah's  heart  was  glad ;  and,  side  by  side, 
They  prayed  until  the  sun  in  heaven  was  high. 
Then  hunger  to  the  pious  man  drew  nigh 

And  loudly  clamored  to  be  satisfied. 


70  JUST  JINGLES 

Abdallah's  wife  still  prayed :  no  food  was  there. 

The  good  man's  soul  was  vexed.     '"Tis  plain," 
he  said, 

"That  even  piety  must  needs  be  fed, 
And  man  cannot  exist  alone  by  prayer. ' ' 

And   thus  he   learned,    "Faith  without  works    is 

dead." 

And,  profiting  by  what  he  learned,  straightway 
He  went  to  work,  and  prospered  from  that  day, 

And  thanks  to  Allah  gave  for  daily  bread. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  71 


Bill 

BILL  was  a  coward  —  thet  all  of  us  said  — 
Wasn't  a  single  brave  hair  in  his  head. 
Why  !  don't  you  think?  he  fainted  dead  away 
Jest  watchin'  on  'em  kill  a  cat  one  day. 
An'  when  it  come  hog-killin'  time,  he  hid — 
Bill  did. 


Boys  usto  try  fer  to  git  Bill  to  fight ; 
But  Bill,  he  wouldn't,  coz  he  said  'twa'n't  right; 
But  we  allowed  'twas  coz  he  was  afraid, 
An'  we  would  call  'im  "baby"  and  "ole  maid"; 
But  he  would  say,    "Talk  boys,    if  it  does   you 
good" — 

Bill  would. 


Me  'n'  Tom  'n'  Phil  'n'  Joe  hed  heaps  o'  fun 
A-coonin'  melons  nights.     Would  Bill  tech  one? 
Not  much  !    he  said  '  twas  stealin' ,  but  we  thought 
'Twas  jest  coz  he  was  'fraid  o'  gettin'  caught. 
Thieves  didn't  go  to  Heaven  when  they  was  dead, 
Bill  said. 


72  JUST  JINGLES 

Found  out  at  last,  though,  thet  air  Bill  could  fight. 
When  we  was  pesterin'  a  dog  one  night, 
Bill  snatched  away  a  battered  ole  tin  pail 
Thet  we  was  splicin'  onto  thet  pup's  tail, 
An'  fought !  He  knocked  out  me  'n'  Tom  'n'  Phil  — 
Did  Bill. 

Guess  a'ter  all  Bill  isn't  much  afraid. 
He's  cur'ous  like,  but  thet's  the  way  he's  made. 
He  won't  let  fellers  pick  on  boys  thet's  small, 
Or  dogs.     He's  tender-hearted — thet  is  all. 
Wa'n't  tender,  though,  'ith  me  'n'  Tom  'n'  Phil  — 
Wa'n't  Bill. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT 


Uncle  Mat 

OLD  and  feeble  and  bent  and  gray, 

Visage  furrowed  by  grief  and  pain, 
Feebly  tottering  along  life's  way, 

Staying  his  steps  with  his  broomstick  cane, 
Tanned  by  sun  his  wrinkled  skin, 

Matted  his  hair  'neath  his  brimless  hat, 
Bristling  stubble  upon  his  chin, — 

Poor  old  wandering  Uncle  Mat. 

Clouded  his  brain  with  weight  of  woe, 

Haunted  by  sorrows  and  griefs  of  the  past — 
Pleasures  departed  long  ago, 

And  happy  days  too  sweet  to  last : 
Trouble  dwelt  on  his  time-marked  face ; 

Grief  on  his  wretched  visage  sat ;  — 
Wandering  ever  from  place  to  place, — 

Poor  old  demented  Uncle  Mat. 

Uncle  Mat  fell  asleep  one  day, 

And  dreamed  of  the  happy  days  of  old 
When  children  round  his  knee  did  play, 

Ere  friends  proved  false  and  theworld  turned  cold- 
Of  the  happy  home  and  the  loving  wife 

That  were  his  ere  trouble  his  woes  begat ; 
He  smiled  as  he  dreamed  of  that  blissful  life, — 

Weary  and  wretched  Uncle  Mat. 


74  JUST  JINGLES 

So  sweet  was  the  dream,  he  awoke  no  more ; 

Peacefully  sank  to  his  long,  long  rest. 
All  of  his  troubles  and  travels  are  o'er, 

And  he  lies  by  the  ones  he  loved  the  best ; 
And  the  grave,  kept  green  by  the  sun  and  rain, 

In  that  quiet,  peaceful,  restful  plat, 

Shields  from  all  trouble,  grief,  and  pain 

The  worn-out  body  of  Uncle  Mat. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  75 « 


An  Unlearned  Lesson 

A  SAGE  there  was,  in  days  of  old, 

Rich  —  not  in  paltry  land  or  gold  — 

But,  blessed  with  wealth  from  wisdom's  store, 

His  mind  with  wholesome  truths  ran  o'er. 

From  far  and  near  there  daily  came 

Those  intellectually  lame, 

And  he  right  gladly,  without  price, 

Gave  helpful  words  and  good  advice. 

One  day,  among  the  rest,  there  came 
A  man  unlearned,  Pambo  by  name, 
Who,  like  the  others,  wisdom  sought, 
And  asked  that  sacred  truths  be  taught. 
"Teach  me,"  he  said,  "some  psalm,  I  pray, 
To  guide  my  conduct  day  by  day." 

Then  from  the  shelf  the  wise  man  took, 

With  reverence,  the  holy  book, 

And  opening,  began  to  read ; 

And  thus  he  read :   "I  will  take  heed 

Unto  my  ways,  that  I  sin  not 

With  mine  own  tongue."     Thus  far  he  got 

When  Pambo  bade  him  read  no  more. 

"  I  will  retire  to  think  this  o'er 

And  learn  this  lesson  first,"  said  he, 

' '  Then  once  again  will  come  to  thee. ' ' 


76  JUST  JINGLES 

Swift  sped  the  months,  full  half  a  score, 
Yet  to  the  wise  man  came  no  more 
The  knowledge  seeker ;  but  one  day 
They  chanced  to  meet  upon  the  way. 
"How  now?"   the  wise  man  to  him  said, 
"Thy  psalm  remaineth  still  unread. 
Canst  thou  not  come  and  lend  thine  ear 
Still  other  words  of  truth  to  hear?" 
But  Pambo  gravely  shook  his  head : 
"Not  so,  my  worthy  sage,"  he  said  ; 
"My  lesson  still  remains  undone; 
I  seek  not  yet  another  one.' ' 

When  half  a  century  rolled  by, 
Yet  likewise  Pambo  made  reply. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  77 


Aunt  Keziah 


..OLD  Aunt  Keziah  is  laid  away  — 
Jest  attended  her  fun'ral  today. 
Cur'ousest  woman  I  ever  see, 
Allers  a-sayin',  "Du  tell!  la  me!" 
But  never  excited  er  surprised. 
Whatever  had  happened,  she'd  surmised 
That  air  same  thing  would  happen  thet  way. 
"La  me!   jest  as  I  thought,"  she'd  say. 

Onst,  when  the  cars  run  over  her  cow, 

Some  o'  the  neighbors,  says  they,  "Ah!  now 

Old  Aunt  Keziah  will  have  a  spell." 

But  all  that  she  said  was  "La  me !  du  tell ! 

I've  been  expectin'  it  all  the  spring, 

Fer  thet  air  cow  was  a  careless  thing. 

She  was  the  poorest  cow  I  had : 

'Twasn\t  old  Brindle ;  fer  thet  I'm  glad." 

There  come  a  big  storm  one  summer  day, — 

Carried  the  roof  of  her  barn  away. 

"Now  she  will  surely  excited  be," 

The  neighbors  cried  ;  but  she  said,  "La  me  ! 

What  a  blessin'  'tis  !  fer  don't  you  know? 

I'd  said  this  week  thet  ruff  must  go, 

Fer  rotten  'twas  an'  needed  repair. 

It's  done  me  a  kindness,  I  declare  !  " 


78  JUST  JINGLES 

Death  came  an'  laid  his  hand  on  her  head : 
"I  have  come  to  claim  my  own,"  he  said. 
But  she  only  said,  "La  me !  du  tell ! 
I've  been  expectin'  ye  quite  a  spell." 


When  entered  she  the  City  of  Love 
An'  saw  the  glorious  sights  above, 
I  venture  to  say  she  said,  "La  me ! 
Heaven's  jest  the  place  I  thought  it  would  be. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT 


Skipper  Iresotf 

IN  that  green  plat  where  the  silent  lie. 
The  village  of  Marblehead  hard  by, 
Where  ever  is  heard  the  ocean's  roar, 
As  its  waves  belabor  the  rugged  shore, 
In  a  grave  mid  mossy,  crumbling  stones, 
There  rest  today  poor  Ireson's  bones  — 
Old  Ben  Ireson,f  victim  of  wrong, 
Mistaken  in  deed,  misjudged  in  song. 

Crushed  was  his  spirit,  broken  his  heart, — 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  his  neighbors  of  Marblehead. 

One  pen  that  thrilled  the  world  with  its  spell, 
That  wrote  many  truths  and  wrote  them  well, 
Deceived  by  rumor,  one  ill-timed  day, 
Was  sadly  led  into  error's  way. 
Let  mine  be  the  hand  and  mine  the  pen 
To  right  that  wrong  in  the  eyes  of  men. 

*When  the  poet  Whittier  wrote  the  story  of  "Skipper  Ireson's 
Ride,"  he  was  not  aware  of  the  fact  that  some  of  the  sailors,  upon 
their  deathbeds,  had  made  confessions  that  cleared  Ireson  of  the 
charge  of  having  willingly  left  the  crew  of  the  Active,  of  Portland,  to 
perish  for  want  of  assistance  —  a  charge  that  hung  over  him  to  the  day 
of  his  death.  To  Captain  Samuel  A.  Fabens,  of  Salem,  Massachusetts, 
and  Samuel  Rhodes,  Junior,  of  Washington,  District  of  Columbia,  a 
former  resident  of  Salem,  I  am  indebted  for  the  facts  recorded  in  this 
noem. 

"Ben,"  and  not  "  Flud,"  as  represented  in 


>  JUST  JINGLES 

Let  Skipper  Ireson  arise  again, 
And  tell  the  story  in  language  plain  — 
That  bitter  tale  of  a  broken  heart, 
When,  tarred  and  feathered,  he  rode  the  cart 
Through  the  village  of  Marblehead. 

"  'Twas  a  boomin'  sea  an'  wicked  gale, 
An'  the  Betty,  bearin'  all  'er  sail, 
Was  leavin'  astarn  the  Cape  Cod  light, 
When  the  Active,  o'  Portland,  hove  in  sight. 
She  had  run  'er  distress  to  top  o'  the  mast, 
An'  Gibbons,  he  calls,  'We're  sinkin'  fast!' 
Says  I :    '  My  men,  here's  work  to  do  ! 
We'll  drop  aour  anchor  an'  just  lay  to, 
An'  when  the  wind  an'  sea  go  daown, 
We'll  take  them  fellaows  straight  into  taown 
To  their  famblies  in  Morblehead.' 

"  '  Yer  daft ! '  they  cried.    '  Lay  to  in  this  sea 
An'  faounder  aoursel's?     No,  no,  not  we  ! 
When  ye  talks  o'  that,  we  all  rebels  ; 
Aour  duty  naow  is  to  save  aoursel's.' 
An'  spite  o'  my  talk,  an'  efforts  too, 
I  had  to  yield  to  that  stubborn  crew. 
The  Active  an'  Gibbons  war  left  behind, 
An'  likewise,  as  well,  my  peace  o'  mind  ; 
An'  my  horrt  seemed  sinkin'  too,  that  day, 
Along  o'  that  ship  in  Chaleur  Bay, 
As  we  sailed  into  Morblehead. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  81 

"But  some  war  rescued  —  come  home  next  day. 
What  did  my  caovvardly  sailors  say  ? 
'  We  wanted  to  stop  an'  holp,'  says  they, 
'  But  old  Ben  Ireson  had  his  way, 
An'  wouldn't  allaow  of  aour  turnin'  back, 
But  left  'em  to  perish  with  the  wrack.' 
The  folks  believed  'em,  an'  thus  it  came 
That  I  was  loaded  with  scorn  an'  shame, 
An'  taunted  an'  currst  for  my  horrd  horrt, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  people  o'  Morblehead. 

"  Yaas,  torr'd  an'  futherr'd!     Ah  !  do  ye  ken  • 
What  cruel  things  are  oft  done  by  men? 
I,  who  war  allers  praoud  o'  my  name, 
To  thus  be  covered  with  scorn  an'  shame, 
Jeered  by  the  rabble,  an'  currst  by  all, 
Despised  an'  hated  by  great  an'  small ! 
Do  ye  wunner  that  I  crept  away, 
An'  shunned  mankind  from  that  bitter  day? 
Do  ye  wunner  that  it  breaked  my  horrt  — 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  my  neighbors  o'  Morblehead  ? ' ' 

Old  Ben  Ireson  this  many  a  day 
Has  beneath  the  turf  been  laid  away  ; 
And  the  guilty  sailors,  at  death's  gate, 
Confessed  the  wrong,  but,  alas !    too  late. 


82  JUST  JINGLES 

All  of  our  verses,  all  of  our  songs 

Never  can  right  poor  Ireson's  wrongs; 

But  to  his  memory  I  would  give 

These  lines,  that  the  right,  with  the  wrong,  may  live : 
This,  to  the  man  with  the  broken  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
Through  the  village  of  Marblehead. 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  83 


The  W r itches  of  Salem 

AH,  the  town  was  in  terrible  plight ! 
Oh,  how  the  people  shivered  with  fright  ! 
Ha !  the  dread  objects  that  roamed  the  night, 
When  the  witches  came  to  Salem  ! 

The  good  people  all  turned  white  with  fear, 
As  they  met,  the  grewsome  tales  to  hear, 
Of  the  babes  made  sick,  of  the  milk  turned  sour, 
Of  the  broomstick  rides  at  the  midnight  hour, 
Of  the  cream,  bewitched  in  the  old  stone  churn, 
That  labor  could  not  to  butter  turn, 
Of  revels  held  in  the  forest  deep, 
When  the  saintly  folks  were  in  bed  asleep, 
Of  the  Evil  One,  who  nightly  came 
To  council  hold  with  some  ugly  dame 
Who'd  sold  her  soul  and  was  bound  to  do 
Whatever  the  Devil  wished  her  to  ; 
And  the  thousand  other  things  they  heard, 
Of  horrible  import,  that  occurred 
When  honest  people  were  all  in  bed, 
Filled  their  timid  hearts  and  souls  with  dread. 
The  witches  had  come  to  Salem  ! 


84  JUST  JINGLES 

The  self-complacent  and  pompous  squire 
Of  a  sudden  lost  his  stately  air, 
And  cowered  with  fear  when  he  walked  at  night, 
E'en  as  some  cowardly  urchin  might; 
And  the  worthy  judge,  whose  sober  tread 
Scarce  jostled  the  wig  upon  his  head, 
His  pace  would  quicken  at  close  of  day, 
Lest  night  should  o'ertake  him  on  the  way. 
And  the  parson  in  his  priestly  gown, 
Felt  strangely  queer  when  the  sun  went  down  ; 
The  governor,  too,  without  a  doubt, 
Misgivings  had  when  the  light  went  out ; 
And  the  common  people  all  held  their  breath, 
And  shivered  all  night,  half  scared  to  death, — 
When  the  witches  came  to  Salem. 

Steps  should  be  taken,  they  all  agreed, 
That  from  this  evil  they  might  be  freed  ; 
And  so  they  met  in  the  council  hall, 
And  weighed  the  statements  of  one  and  all  ; 
And  elders,  and  chiefs,  and  judges  wise, 
There  evidence  found — to  their  surprise — 
That  friends  and  neighbors  of  good  repute, 
Whose  morals  no  man  had  dared  dispute, 
Of  late  had  bargained  their  souls  away, 
And  now  were  under  the  Devil's  pay; 
And  those  who  had  always  loved  the  good 
And  lived  the  lives  the  righteous  should, 


NARRATIVE  AND  REMINISCENT  85 

Of  a  sudden  found  their  chief  delight 
In  mounting  a  broom  at  dead  of  night 
And  galloping  madly  to  and  fro 
In  company  of  the  imps  below. 
They  addled  the  milk  and  people's  wits, 
And  gave  the  innocent  children  fits, 
And  carried  on  in  various  ways 
That  kept  the  good  people  in  a  daze, — 
Those  witches  that  dwelt  in  Salem. 

The  path  of  duty  seemed  very  clear ; 
Yes,  the  magistrates  must  be  severe 
And  deal  in  a  way  that  once  for  all 
Would  place  the  witches  beyond  recall : 
So  fully  a  score  of  dames  and  men, 
Who  happened  beneath  the  judge's  ken, 
Were  bundled  off  in  the  Salem  cart 
To  test  the  executioner's  art. 
Some  begged  for  life,  with  piteous  wail, — 
They  found  their  pleadings  of  no  avail  ; 
Some  meekly,  silently,  met  their  fate, 
The  victims  of  ignorance  or  hate ; 
And  one  aged  man,  with  furrowed  cheek, 
Was  tortured  to  death,  but  would  not  speak. 
Thus  man  and  maid,  thus  neighbor  and  friend 
Came  to  a  sad  and  untimely  end 
When  the  witches  came  to  Salem. 


I  JUST  JINGLES 

Error  one  day  took  wings  and  fled, 
And  Humiliation  came  instead  : 
The  governor,  he  of  honored  name, 
His  reverend  head  bowed  down  with  shame ; 
And  they  who  sat  upon  Justice's  throne 
Reaped  part  of  the  sorrow  they  had  sown ; 
The  parson,  he  who  had  judged  men's  ways, 
Repented  in  anguish  all  his  days : 
For  Hatred,  and  Malice,  and  Envy  too, 
Deceit  and  Cunning  —  a  fiendish  crew  — 
Superstition,  too,  mistaken  Zeal, 
With  Ignorance  treading  on  her  heel, — 
These  were,  as  those  worthies  now  found  out, 
The  only  witches  there  were  about — 
These  the  dread  witches  of  Salem. 

They  of  this  story  have  passed  away, 
And  enlightened  Justice  now  holds  sway. 
Love,  Liberty,  and  Right  today 
Are  the  witches  found  in  Salem. 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS 


Persevere 

LIST,  my  boy ;   a  thought  for  you  : 
In  this  life,  whate'er  you  do, 
Be  your  labor  great  or  small, 
Do  it  well  —  or  not  at  all ; 
And  whatever  you  begin, 
Work  until  success  you  win. 

Keep  your  courage,  never  fear  ; 

You  can  reach  the  goal,  my  dear, 

If  you  only  persevere. 

If  some  object  you'd  attain, 
Keep  at  work  with  might  and  main  : 
All  things  come  to  him  who  works ; 
Never  to  the  one  who  shirks. 
Fall  not  out  beside  the  way  ; 
Labor  faithfully  each  day. 

Never  falter,  never  fear ; 

You  will  win  the  prize,  my  dear, 

If  you  only  persevere. 


92  JUST  JINGLES 

There  are  rich  rewards  to  win ; 

If  you'd  have  them,  now  begin. 

Bear  in  mind,  my  boy,  that  luck 

Is  another  name  for  pluck. 

All  things  good  are  waiting  you, 

If  you're  faithful,  honest,  true. 

Keep  your  courage,  keep  your  cheer 
You  can  win  success,  my  dear, 
If  you  only  persevere. 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  93 


The  Hay  Barn 

OF  all  the  fine  places  to  frolic  and  play, 
Just  give  me  the  hay  barn  upon  a  wet  day  — 
Its  beams  and  its  braces  just  fitted  to  climb, 
And  its  haymow  the  place  to  have  a  good  time. 

Ah  !  there's  many  a  nook  mid  the  oats  and  the  rye 
Where  a  fellow  can  hide  when  playing  ' '  I  spy  ' ' ; 
And  when  playing  at  circus,  an  elegant  thing 
Is  the  rope  stretched  over  the  mow  for  a  swing. 

To  walk  the  big  beam  is  a  feat,  you'll  allow, 
Or,  hang  by  your  heels  from  the  rope  o'er  the  mow  ; 
To  walk  hand  o'er  hand  'cross  the  purlin  is  fun, 
Then  stand  on  your  head  on  the  mow  when  you're 
done. 

There  are  hens'  eggs  to  hunt,  and  mice  nests  to  find, 
And  wasp  nests  o'erhead  you  can  rob  if  inclined. 
Of  all  the  fine  places  to  frolic  and  play, 
Just  give  me  the  hay  barn  upon  a  wet  day. 


94  JUST  JINGLES 


Tale  of  the  Turk  and  the  Tartar 

MAHMOUD  was  a  Turk  in  the  town  of  Yanar, 
Who  kept,  years  ago,  a  fine  Turkish  bazaar ; 

And  his  place  was  renowned 

All  the  country  around, 
For  there  the  best  raiment  could  always  be  found, 

With  rings  for  the  nose 

And  fingers  and  toes, 
And  bracelets  the  ankles  and  arms  to  enclose. 

Ben  Chan  was  a  Tartar,  who  happened  one  day 
To  call  for  a  moment,  when  passing  that  way  ; 

And  he  priced  Mahmoud's  rings 

And  bracelets  and  things, 
And  allowed  that  the  raiment  was  fitted  for  kings. 

He  was  filled  with  delight, 

But  it  puzzled  him  quite 
To  select  him  a  robe  with  so  many  in  sight. 

At  last,  'twixt  two  robes  of  an  elegant  make 
He  paused,  undecided  which  garment  to  take. 

No  difference  in  price, 

Both  equally  nice, 
All  the  odds  were  in  color  and  plan  of  device ; 

But  he  finally  said, 

' '  You  may  give  me  the  red  ; 
'Twill  become  me,  I  think,  when  over  me  spread.' 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  95 

So  Mahmoud,  well  pleased,  wrapped  the  garment 

with  care, 
And  passed  it  across  to  Ben  Chan,  waiting  there. 

As  he  took  it,  he  said, 

"I  half  fear  I'm  misled; 
I  believe  I  prefer  the  yellow  instead. 

'Twould  accommodate  me 

If  you'd  trade,  sir,"  said  he. 
And  Mahmoud  said,  "Surely,  to  that  I'll  agree." 

The  change  was  soon  made,  and  Ben  Chan  walked 

away, 
First  bidding  the  merchant  politely  "Good  day"; 

But  the  merchant  cried  :   "Hold  ! 

My  good  friend,  I  make  bold 
To  ask  for  the  pay  for  the  goods  I  have  sold. 

You  forgot  it,  no  doubt, 

But  were  going  without 
Leaving  the  price  we  were  talking  about." 

The  Tartar  replied,  "You  forget,  sir,  our  trade  — 
The  garment  of  red  for  the  yellow  robe  paid." 

Said  the  Turk,  "Yes,  I  know  ; 

I'll  admit  that  is  so, 
But  yet  for  the  garment  of  red  you  still  owe." 

"Why,  how  can  that  be  ?" 

Said  the  Tartar.      "You  see 
You  still  own  that  robe  —  you  can't  charge  it  to  me." 


96  JUST  JINGLES 

The  Turk  for  a  moment  in  thought  hung  his  head ; 
"I  guess  you  are  right,"  he  reluctantly  said, 

"Though  it  doesn't  appear, 

Just  this  moment,  quite  clear, 
Yet  the  raiment  of  red,  as  you  say,  is  still  here." 

Then  Ben  Chan  walked  away  ; 

And  the  Turk,  so  they  say, 
Is  puzzling  his  head  o'er  the  problem  today. 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  97 


Sir  Hubert's  Ride 

IN  olden  times,   when  valiant    knights  rode  gaily 

through  the  land 

To  rescue  ladies  in  distress  and  lend  a  helping  hand 
To   all  the   needy  and    oppressed,    whoever   they 

might  be, 
There  lived  a  young  and  sturdy  knight,  Sir  Hubert 

Fyddledee. 

Sir  Hubert  long  had  sought  in  vain  to  test  his 
mettle  true ; 

But  none  there  were  in  dire  distress  among  all  whom 
he  knew, 

And  nowhere  in  his  neighborhood  could  he  a  foe- 
man  find  : 

It  seemed  that  fate  to  Hubert  brave  was  woefully 
unkind. 

He  rode  the  country  round  about,  astride  his  noble 

steed, 
Caparisoned  from   head   to  foot — a  goodly  sight, 

indeed. 
The  peace  that  reigned  about  him  was  distressing 

to  his  mind  ; 
No  tyrant  lord,   or  robber   bold,   could    poor   Sir 

Hubert  find. 


98  JUST  JINGLES 

One  evening,  riding  homeward  from  a  day  of  fruit- 
less quest, 

The  bright  moon  shone  behind  him  o'er  the  moun- 
tains in  the  west ; 

And  lo  !  there,  just  before  him,  riding  boldly,  same 
as  he, 

Another  knight  now  loomed  in  sight,  all  armed  he, 
cap-a-pie. 

"Hold!  hold!"   cried  Hubert,  "who  art  thou  that- 

rides  by  night  so  bold? 
Halt,   I  command,  until  to  me  your  mission  you 

have  told." 
But  never  paused  this  somber  knight,  nor  deigned 

to  make  reply, 
Nor  seemed  to  notice  that  there  was  another  rider 

nigh. 

' '  Zounds  ! ' '    quoth  Sir  Hubert,  ' '  this  is  strange  ; 

perhaps  he  did  not  hear." 
So  once  again  he  shouted  ' '  Halt ! "  in  accents  loud 

and  clear; 
But  still  no  pause,  but  onward  moved  the  doughty 

knight  and  steed, 
And  to  Sir  Hubert's  challenge  bold  gave  not  the 

slightest  heed. 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  99 

' '  Gad  zooks  ! ' '   cried  Hubert,    ' '  we  will  see  what 

means  this  bold  disdain"  ; 
Then  sank  his  spurs  deep  in  his  horse  and  rushed 

with  might  and  main 
Straight  toward  the  strangely  silent  knight;  when,  lo  ! 

he  sprang  ahead, 
And  down  the  road  with  fearful  speed  the  knightly 

horseman  fled, 


And  riding  swift,  and  riding  fast,  with  vengeance  in 

his  eye, 
Adown  the  road  Sir  Hubert  and  his  noble  steed  did 

fly. 
But  strive  with  all  his  strength  and  skill,  and  strive 

with  all  his  might, 
Sir  Hubert  could  not  overtake  the   swiftly  flying 

knight. 

Mile  after  mile  adown  the  road  the  chased   and 

chaser  fled, 
The  strange  knight  never  losing  ground,  but  always 

just  ahead. 
He  urged  his  steed  to  greater  speed,  but  all  of  no 

avail ; 
His   charger's   breath   came   thick   and    fast,    his 

strength  began  to  fail. 


100  JUST  JINGLES 

At  last  he  staggered,  stumbled,  fell,  and  in  the  dust 

and  dirt 
The   knightly  Hubert    sprawling   lay,  but   luckily 

unhurt. 
He  quickly  scrambled  to  his  feet,  and  searched  with 

eager  eye 
Along  the  dusty  road  before,  the  stranger  knight  to 

spy. 

And  lo !  there  just  before  him  was  the  object  of  his 

chase, 
The  horse  prone  in  the  broad  highway,  the  knight 

before  his  face ; 
And  poor,  chagrined  Sir  Hubert  could  but  scarce 

believe  his  sight, 
When  he  saw  that  'twas  his  shadow  he'd  mistaken 

for  a  knight. 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  101 


The  Runaway  Boy 

OH,  the  naughtiest,  sauciest,  wickedest  boy 

That  ever  I  chanced  to  see 
Was  the  ragged  and  tattered  and  runaway  boy 

Who  happened  to  live  near  me. 

Oh,  his  parents  and  teachers  he  never  would  mind, 

And  from  school  he'd  run  away, 
With  some  other  audacious  and  runaway  boys, 

To  indulge  in  idle  play. 

And  the  wob-ble-te-gob-ble-te-ketch-a-boy  man 

Was  one  day  passing  that  way, 
And  he  captured  that  boy  in  the  wink  of  an  eye, 

And  carried  him  far  away. 

He  carried  him  deep  in  the  wire-brier  wood, 

And  he  left  him  all  alone, 

Where  the  bob-by-us-jump-py-us  howled  and 
roared, 

And  the  big  boo-boo  made  moan. 

And  the  hip-pi-o-hop-pi-o-nos-si-ri-nos, 

He  growled  and  prowled  all  day  ;  • 

But  which  one  of  the  hobgoblins  made  off  with  the 

boy 
I'm  not  quite  ready  to  say. 


102  JUST  JINGLES 


The  Glorious  Fourth 

HURRAH  !  hurrah  !  the  Fourth  is  here, 
The  loudest  day  of  all  the  year. 

'Tis  roar  and  clang, 

And  pop  and  bang, 

And  'tis  fizz,  whiz,  sizz  ! 

What  a  day  it  is ! 
What  a  glorious,  and  uproarious,  patriotic  day  it  is  ! 

The  cannons  boom,  and  trumpets  blare 
And  martial  music  fills  the  air. 

And  'tis  pum,  bum, 

Of  big  bass  drum  ; 

And  'tis  toot,  toot,  toot, 

Of  the  horns,  and  shoot 

Of  the  crackers,  guns,  and  rockets  that  toward  the 
heavens  scoot. 

And  then  the  gaudy,  grand  parade  ! 
The  troops  in  uniform  arrayed, 

And  tramp  of  feet 

Adown  the  street, 

And  'tis  flip,  flap,  flare 

Of  the  flags  in  air, — 
Of  the  glorious  spangled  banners  waving  gaily  in  the 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  103 

Hurray  !  and  how  the  people  shout ! 
Hurray  !  and  how  the  speakers  spout ! 

And  whoop  !  hurray  ! 

For  the  splendid  day 

With  its  fun  and  noise 

And  its  woes  and  joys, 

The  gladdest  day  in  all  the  year  for  our  patriotic 
boys. 


104  JUST  JINGLES 


A  Lullaby 

THE  shades  of  night  are  falling,  falling  ; 
The  birds  their  mates  are  calling,  calling ; 
The  fiery  sun  has  sunk  to  rest ; 
The  birdie  seeks  its  tiny  nest : 
Come,  baby,  lie  upon  my  breast, 
And  sleep,  baby,  sleep. 

Lullaby,  lullaby,  sleep,  baby,  sleep. 
Angels  will  come  and  watch  o'er  thee  keep. 
Sweet  be  thy  dreams,  thy  slumber  be  deep. 
Lullaby,  darling,  sleep,  baby,  sleep. 

The  moon  o'er  hill  is  beaming,  beaming; 
In  sky  the  stars  are  gleaming,  gleaming  ; 
And  Dreamland's  boat  now  waits  for  thee, 
To  waft  thee  over  Slumber  Sea : 
Safe,  yes  safe,  thy  voyage  will  be, — 
O  sleep,  baby,  sleep. 

Lullaby,  lullaby,  sleep,  baby,  sleep. 
Angels  will  come  and  watch  o'er  thee  keep. 
Sweet  be  thy  dreams,  thy  slumber  be  deep. 
Lullaby,  darling,  sleep,  baby,  sleep. 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  105 

Sweet  sleep  o'er  thee  is  creeping,  creeping; 
Ah  !  soon  thou  wilt  be  sleeping,  sleeping ; 
And  as  I  lay  thee  in  thy  bed, 
May  blessings  from  above  be  shed 
In  showers  upon  thy  tiny  head  : 
So  sleep,  baby,  sleep. 

Lullaby,  lullaby,  sleep,  baby,  sleep. 
Angels  will  come  and  watch  o'er  thee  keep. 
Sweet  be  thy  dreams,  thy  slumber  be  deep. 
Lullaby,  darling,  sleep,  baby,  sleep. 


106  JUST  JINGLES 


How  Abed  Saved  His  Head 

ABED  BEN  HADED,  a  wise  Mussulman, 

Who  dwelt  in  a  hut  where  the  broad  Tigris  ran, 

Once  made  a  remark  which  the  caliph  displeased, 

And  he  swore  that  his  wrath  could  not  be  appeased 

By  anything  short  of  Ben  Haded' s  demise. 

"And  yet,"  said  the  caliph,  "since  he  is  so  wise', 

If  he  will  make  answer  correctly  to  three 

Simple  questions  to  be  propounded  by  me, 

His  life  shall  be  spared ;  but  if  not,"  with  a  smile, 

' '  His  presence  no  longer  the  earth  shall  defile. ' ' 

Ben  Haded  agreed — what  else  could  he  do? — 
And  asked  that  the  ordeal  be  hurried  through. 
So  the  caliph  began,  with  a  smile  of  grim  glee : 
"What  is  it  I  think?  that's  the  first  one,"  said  he. 
"Ah  !  that  is  quite  easy,"  Ben  Haded  replied. 
"You  think  I  can't  fathom  the  thoughts  that  abide 
Unexpressed  in  your  brain;  but  I  have,  as  you  see; 
And  thus  the  first  answer  is  right,  you'll  agree." 
And  the  caliph,  well  pleased  with  this  clever  reply, 
Said:  "That  those  were  my  thoughts  I  cannot  deny. 

To  answer  the  next  one  will  not  be  such  play. 
The  question  is  this  :   ' '  What  next  will  I  say  ? ' ' 
Ben  Haded  his  head  bowed  a  moment  in  thought : 
"I  think  you  will  say — at  least,-  sire,  you  ought  — 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  107 

That  your  highness  can  illy  afford  to  dispense 
With  one  who's  endowed  with  both  wisdom  and 

sense. ' ' 
' '  Well  said  ! ' '   cried  the  caliph  ;   ' '  your  answer  is 

right ; 

I  hadn't  before  viewed  the  thing  in  that  light. 
Your  life  shall  be  spared  if  the  last  of  the  three 
Is  answered  as  aptly  as  these  two,"  said  he. 

"What  next  will  I  do?  tell  me  that,  if  you  can ; 
That's  a  problem  I  think  is  unknown  to  man." 
But  Abed  Ben  Haded  said  :   "This  you  will  do  : 
Because  I've  amused  and  entertained  you — 
Your  heart  is  so  kind,  generosity  great  — 
You  will  give  me  a  title  and  handsome  estate." 
And  it  was  even  so,  for  the  caliph  straightway 
Made  Abed  Ben  Haded  grand  vizier  that  day  ; 
For  said  he,    "I  can  illy  afford  to  dispense 
With  one  who's  endowed  with  both  wisdom  and 
sense. ' ' 


108  JUST  JINGLES 


The  Boy  and  the  Bouncing  Bear 

THIS  is  the  story,  as  far  as  it  goes, 
Of  the  boy  and  the  bouncing  bear  — 

The  bear  with  the  black,  inquisitive  nose 
And  the  long  and  shaggy  hair, 

And  the  boy  with  the  melting  eyes  of  blue 

And  a  love  of  stories  —  about  like  you. 

The  bear,  he  dwelt  in  a  deep,  dark  wood, 

And  he  hunted,  day  by  day, 
For  tender  boys, — just  as  he  should, 

For  bears  are  built  that  way, 
And  it's  really  a  duty  for  bears  to  eat 
Each  tender  boy  that  they  chance  to  meet. 

Now,  the  boy  with  the  melting  eyes  of  blue 
Went  seeking  the  bouncing  bear ; 

For  he  liked  to  have  his  stories  new, 
And  he  said  he  didn't  care 

For  stories  after  they'd  once  been  told. 

' '  They  lose  their  flavor, ' '  said  he,  ' '  when  old. ' ' 

So  thus  it  occurred  that  he  went  one  day 

Into  the  forest  deep, 
And  there,  where  the  shadows  thickest  lay, 

And  the  sunshine  dare  not  creep, 
He  met  the  bear  with  inquisitive  nose, — 
And  this  is  as  far  as  the  story  goes. 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  109 


A  Bold  Hold-up 

WHILE  walking  out  the  other  day, 
Now,  whom  do  you  think  I  met? 

The  Greatest  Rogue  That  Ever  Was, 
And  The  Biggest  Rascal  Yet. 

The  Greatest  Rogue  That  Ever  Was 
Said,   ' '  Uncle,  Helen  and  I 

Are  going  down  to  the  candy  store 
An  all-day  sucker  to  buy." 

The  Biggest  Rascal  Yet,  she  says, 
"An"  I'se  got  ve  money — see? 

Vere's  but  one  cent,  an'  I  des  wish 
You'd  dive  anozzer  to  me." 

There  was  I,  on  the  street  held  up 
By  that  bold  and  rascally  two ; 

I  promptly  passed  the  money  o'er, 
For  what  could  a  fellow  do? 

And  then  the  robbers  let  me  go ; 

And  off  with  a  skip  and  a  hop, 
The  Rogue  and  Rascal,  hand  in  hand, 

Went  on  to  the  candy  shop. 


110  JUST  JINGLES 


When  Uncle  Sam  Was  Young 

WHEN  Liberty  first  spread  her  wings,  and  Free- 
dom found  her  tongue, 

When  Independence  Day  was  new,  and  Uncle  Sam 
was  young, 

When  came  the  jolly  Fourth  around — the  first 
grand  celebration  — 

With  fun  and  noise  for  all  the  boys,  with  joy  and 
exultation, 

Do  you  suppose  those  old-time  lads,  so  many  years 
ago, 

Knew  half  the  joys  the  merry  boys  of  recent  dec- 
ades know? 

Did  Andrew  Jackson  fireworks  have?  If  so,  do  you 
suppose 

He  got  excited,  burned  his  hands,  and  set  on  fire 
his  clothes? 

And  did  the  youthful  James  Monroe,  when  shoot- 
ing off  a  rocket, 

Forget  and  drop  his  lighted  punk  with  crackers  in 
his  pocket  ? 

Did  Madison  and  Jefferson  and  Burr  upon  that  day 

At  early  dawn  shoot  cannons  off  and  scare  the 
infant  Clay? 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  111 

I  wonder  if  Ben  Franklin,  with  approving  smile, 
stood  by 

And  watched  the  brilliant  rockets  as  they  sailed 
across  the  sky. 

And  Hancock,  he  whose  heavy  hand  signed  Free- 
dom's proclamation, 

Do  you  suppose  his  bosom  swelled  with  rapture  and 
elation  ? 

And  from  a  flag-enveloped  stand  did  Washington 
proclaim, 

And  call  in  bursts  of  eloquence  on  Freedom's  sacred 
name? 


Do   you  suppose  a  grand  parade  passed  by  the 

speaker's  stand, 
The  columns  moving  gayly  to  the  music  of  the 

band? 
And    did   they   have   fantastics,    and  all  kinds  of 

games  and  races, 
And  a  thousand  glad  surprises  at  all  sorts  of  times 

and  places? 
What  all  was  done  upon  that  day?    I'd  really  like 

to  know 
Just  how  they  spent  that  old-time  Fourth  so  many 

years  ago. 


112  JUST  JINGLES 


Father  Sun  and  Mother  Moon 

GOOD  father  Sun  and  mother  Moon,  a  many  years 

ago, 
Looked  down  upon  the  cold,  dark  earth  so  many 

miles  below. 

' '  How  dark  and  drear, ' ' 
Said  he,  "my  dear, 
Those  hills  and  valleys  there  appear  ! 
And  we  have  light  to  spare,  up  here." 
Says  she,  "That's  so,  that's  so." 

Says  father  Sun  to  mother  Moon:   "My  dear,  let 

you  and  I 
Hereafter  keep  our  lanterns  burning  brightly  in  the 

sky  : 

I'll  shed  my  light 
By  day  ;  at  night 

You  can  the  darkness  put  to  flight 
With  your  soft  beams  so  clear  and  white." 
Says  she,  "I'll  try,  I'll  try." 

So  all  day  long  good  father  Sun  his  lantern  holds 

on  high, 
And  slowly  carries  it  across  the  blue  arch  of  the 

sky. 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  113 

When  in  the  west 
He  sinks  to  rest, 
Then  mother  Moon  is  manifest, 
And  all  night  long  she  does  her  best 
The  world  to  glorify. 


114  JUST  JINGLES 


Twins 

SWEET    four-year-old    Fannie    sits    on    mamma's 

knee: 

"I  love  you,  I  love  you,  dear  mamma,"  says  she. 
"How  much  do  you  love  me,  you  elf?"  mamma 

said. 

Then,  thoughtfully,  Fannie  inclined  her  wise  head : 
The  problem  of  love  was  not  hard  to  decide ; 
"  I  love  you  with  all  of  my  heart,"  she  replied. 

Then  her  papa  she  sought  and  gave  him  a  kiss, 
And  he  on  the  subject  then  questioned  the  miss. 
' '  How  much  does  my  girl  love  her  papa,  my  dear? ' ' 
He  asked,  as  he  playfully  pinched  her  pink  ear. 
She  gave  him  a  hug,  and  a  pat  on  the  head : 
' '  I  love  you  with  all  of  my  heart,  too, ' '  she  said. 

"Now,  how  can  that  be?"   said  her  pa,  puzzled 

quite. 

' '  On  this  funny  problem  please  give  me  some  light : 
If  you  love  your  mamma  with  all  of  your  heart, 
Pray,  how  can  that  leave  me  the  whole  or  a  part?" 
He  smilingly  waits  her  solution  to  hear. 
"I  think  that  my  heart  must  be  twins,  papa  dear." 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  115 


My  Big  Brother 


MY  big  brother,  you  ist  ought  'o  know  him  ! 

He  knows  ve  mostest  fings : 
He  can  tell  wight  off  ve  kind  a  bird  is 

Ist  by  ve  song  it  sings  ; 
'N'  he  knows  ist  vare  vey  all  make  veir  nests 

'N'  one  time  he  took  me 
To  vere  vey  was  a  nest  wiv  some  wee  birds, 

'N'  helt  me  up  to  see. 

My  big  brother,  he  knows  how  to  kill  warts 

When  you've  handled  a  toad. 
You  ist  take  'n'  rub  ve  wart  wiv  a  stone, 

Ven  lay  it  in  ve  road  ; 
'N'  nen  whoever  turns  vat  stone  aroun', 

Vey  gets  ve  wart,  you  see. 
But  I  don't  handle  toads,  you  bet !  fer  I 

Don't  want  no  warts  on  me. 

'N'  my  big  brother,  he  can  whistle,  too, 

Ist  ve  bulliest  kind. 
'N'  my  big  brother,  he  don't  cry  ;  ven  ma 

Whips  him,  ven  he  don't  mind. 
Wisht  I  could  do  vat  way,  but  I  ist  howl 

Ven  ma  or  pa  whips  me. 
Wisht  I  was  big  as  him,  but  brother  says 

Vat  some  day  I  will  be. 


116  JUST  JINGLES 


The  Fairy  and  the  Burr 

A  CHESTNUT  burr,  with  prickly  fur, 

Upon  the  parent  tree, 
One  autumn  day  was  heard  to  say 

To  Mr.  Bumblebee : 
'  How  sad  am  I,  who  cannot  fly 

Or  run  or  leap  or  hop 
Like  beast  or  bee,  but  on  this  tree 

Am  always  doomed  to  stop  ! 

1  The  birds  and  bees  float  o'  er  the  trees  ; 

The  rabbits  leap  or  run ; 
The  nimble  squirrels,  and  boys  and  girls, 

Indulge  in  active  fun  ; 
But  day  and  night  I'm  stuck  here  tight, 

And  though  I  long  to  roam, 
As  you'll  perceive,  I  ne'er  can  leave 

My  leafy  tree-twig  home." 

A  fairy  small,  who'd  chanced  to  call, 

O'erheard  this  fretful  talk. 
She  shook  her  head  and  gently  said  : 

' '  Your  wish  to  fly  or  walk 
I'll  grant  to  you.     Which  will  you  do? 

Just  name  it  and  'tis  done." 
Then  cried  the  burr,  "I'd  much  prefer 

To  be  a  beast  and  run." 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  117 

A  gentle  wave  the  fairy  gave 

Of  jeweled  wand  so  small, 
When,  with  a  bound,  unto  the  ground 

The  burr  was  seen  to  fall. 
Lo  !  there  appear  eyes,  mouth,  and  ears, 

Four  legs,  a  tail,  some  feet, — 
Strange,  you'll  agree, — and  then  we  see 

A  porcupine  complete. 


118  JUST  JINGLES 


The  Brave  Midget 

SOME  years  ago,  in  good  old  times, 

When  giants  were  in  style, 
And  fairies,  nymphs,  and  midgets  small 

Deigned  on  mankind  to  smile, 
A  cruel  giant  vexed  the  land 

And  all  the  world  defied ; 
And  none  were  found  among  the  brave 

To  conquer  his  fierce  pride. 

A  king  there  was — there  always  is  — 

Who  had  a  daughter  fair ; 
And,  though  he  loved  her  very  much, 

At  last,  in  his  despair, 
He  offered  her  —  they  always  do  — 

To  that  brave  one  who  should 
The  giant  slay  or  drive  away 

From  out  the  neighborhood. 

A  midget  just  six  inches  tall 

This  proclamation  read ; 
And,  hast'ning  to  the  royal  court, 

The  king  he  sought,  and  said  : 
'  I  fain  would  try  to  win  the  hand 

Of  your  sweet  daughter  fair, 
So  on  the  morrow  I  will  slay 

The  giant.     Thus  I  swear ! ' ' 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  119 

Down  at  the  midget  gazed  the  king, 

Half  speechless  with  surprise. 
1  This  is  indeed  a  merry  jest," 

He  laughingly  replies : 
'Go  bring  to  me  the  giant's  head 

And  win  the  princess'  hand, 
And  to  that  royal  prize  I'll  add 

One  half  of  all  my  land." 

Now,  when  the  giant  heard  a  foe 

Was  come  to  take  his  life, 
He  buckled  on  his  armor  bright 

And  hurried  to  the  strife ; 
But  when  he  saw  this  tiny  man, 

He  gasped  and  caught  his  breath  ; 
He  coughed  and  choked  in  sheer  surprise, — 

And  laughed  himself  to  death. 

The  rest,  of  course,  you  all  can  guess — 

All  fairy  tales  end  so  : 
The  giant's  head  he  carted  back 

The  doubting  king  to  show ; 
A  wedding  grand  at  once  was  made, 

And  he  the  princess  wed  ; 
And  ever  afterward  they  lived 

Quite  happily,  'tis  said. 


120  JUST  JINGLES 


How  a  King  Lost  His  Christmas 
Dinner 

THE  stately  banquet  hall  was  trimmed  with  ever- 
greens galore ; 

The  lengthy  tables  groaned  with  food ;  a  hundred 
plates  or  more 

Were  waiting  for  the  noble  guests  who,  at  the 
king's  command, 

Were  coming  to  partake  of  cheer — the  best  in  all 
the  land. 

When  all  assembled,  cried  the  king,  "Go  bring  the 

yule  log  in, 
And  when  its  fire  lights  bright  these  walls,  then  let 

the  feast  begin"; 
And,  eager  to  obey  his  voice,  twelve  yeomen,  lusty, 

stout, 
With  salutations  to  the  king  rushed  down  the  hall 

and  out. 

There  in  the  snow  the  great  log  lay  —  'twas  full 

three  fathoms  long : 
But  little  cared    the  yeomen ;    they  were  willing, 

brave,  and  strong. 
They  dragged  it  through  the  open  door  and  down 

the  long,  long  hall, 
And  rolled  it  on  the  ruddy  blaze  amid  the  cheers 

of  all. 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  121 

Now,  when  the  woodman  picked  this  tree  out  from 

among  the  rest, 
He  knew  it  not,  but  in  its  heart  was  hid  a  wild 

bees'  nest. 
It  being  cold,  the  bees  within  were  stiff,  and  made 

no  sign  ; 
And  thus  they  too — against  their  will  —  came  with 

the  king  to  dine. 

Scarce  seated  were  the  guests  around   the  festive 

Christmas  board, 
Ere  from  the  smoking  yule  log  streamed  the  bees, 

an  angry  horde. 
They  spared  not,  neither  high  nor  low,  but  drove 

them  from  the  hall : 
Lords,  ladies,  dukes,  and  king  as  well,  fled  quickly, 

one  and  all. 

In  time  the  fire  burned  low  and  died ;  the  frost 
crept  through  the  door ; 

The  angry  bees  were  numbed  with  cold,  and  fell 
upon  the  floor ; 

But  ere  the  king  dared  back  to  come  within  the 
banquet  hall, 

The  hungry  hounds  the  feast  had  found  and  straight- 
way eaten  all. 


122  JUST  JINGLES 


Slumber  Street 

OH,  miles  and  miles  of  beds  in  a  row, 
Acres  of  coverlets  white  as  snow, 
Pillows  and  pillows,  and  sheets  galore, 
Blankets  and  quilts  by  the  hundred  score — 
Ah !   these  are  the  sights  that  each  night  greet 
The  children  who  go  to  Slumber  Street. 

Hush-a-byes,  hush-a-byes,  soft  and  low, — 
Rhythmical  murmurs,  both  fast  and  slow, — 
Ditties  and  hymn  tunes,  and  ballads  rare, 
Melodies  gay  and  with  plaintive  air, 
Lullabies  tender  and  soft  and  sweet, — 
This  is  the  music  of  Slumber  Street. 

Visions  delightful,  happy,  and  gay, 

Of  wonderful  toys  and  merry  play ; 

Fanciful  pictures  of  rare  delight, 

Of  verdant  fields  and  skies  that  are  bright — 

Oh  !  these  are  the  dreams  the  children  meet 

Who  travel  each  night  to  Slumber  Street. 

Oh,  scores  upon  scores  of  weary  heads 
Peacefully  resting  in  miles  of  beds  ; 
Each  pair  of  eyelids  is  closed  up  tight, 
And  each  pair  of  eyes  is  hid  from  sight. 
Resting  bodies  and  tired  little  feet  — 
This  is  the  business  of  Slumber  Street. 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  123 


The  Thoughtless  Three 

THE    flutter-by    and    the   hopper-grass    and    the 

humble-bumblebee, 
Set  forth  one  day  in  the  month  of  May  the  wide, 

wide  world  to  see. 
Said   they,     "We'll   go   where  flowers  grow  and 

there's  never  a  fret  nor  care, 
And  the  summer  through  we'll  sip  the  dew  and 

inhale  the  perfume  rare." 

As  they  wandered  down  through  the  orchard  bloom, 

the  ant  they  chanced  to  spy ; 
"Come,  come,"  cried  they,  "with  us  and  play"  ; 

but  the  ant  replied,  ' '  Not  I ; 
I  have  work  to  do  ere  the  summer's  through,  for 

winter  will  soon  be  here  : 
And,  friends,  you  too  will  sadly  rue  the  time  you 

waste,  I  fear." 

The    flutter-by    and    the    hopper-grass    and    the 

humble-bumblebee, 
As  they  danced  away  on  the  breath  of  May,  at  the 

thought  laughed  merrily. 
But  alas  !    alas  !    it  came  to  pass  that  the  summer 

swiftly  sped, 
And  the  thoughtless  three  perished  miserably,  while 

the  ant  was  housed  and  fed. 


124  JUST  JINGLES 


The  Grisly  Grum 

OH,  the  quarrelsome, 
Worrisome  Grisly  Grum 

Delights  in  a  fracas  and  noise  ; 
And  he  lingers  about 
To  watch  for  a  pout 

On  the  faces  of  girls  and  boys. 


Now,  this  Grisly  Grum 
Is  completely  o'ercome 

By  a  smile  or  a  word  of  good  cheer 
But  he  bellows  with  joy 
When  he  sights  a  bad  boy, 

And  he  smiles  with  a  horrible  leer. 


If  the  Grisly  Grum 
Should  happen  to  come 

When  the  children  are  pouty  and  bad, 
And  whisk  them  away 
In  the  night  or  the  day, 

Oh,  bless  me  !  but  that  would  be  sad.  - 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  125 

For  fear  that  he  may, 
It  is  best,  when  at  play, 

To  be  pleasant,  and  gentle,  and  good  ; 
For  he  has,  so  'tis  said, 
An  unconquerable  dread 

Of  those  who  behave  as  they  should. 


126  JUST  JINGLES 


The  Little  German  Band 

HURRAH  !  the  little  German  band  has  come  to  town 

once  more : 
Just  see  them  in  their  uniforms  as  they  pass  by  the 

door ! 
They  stop  upon  the  corner,  and  the  children  gather 

near, 
And  'eagerly  they  crowd  around  the  music  sweet  to 

hear. 
'Tis  " Tootle- te-tootle-te-too"  and  "  Oom-te-tarty- 

tay": 
How  the  children  run  to  see  the  fun  when  the  band 

begins  to  play ! 

There's  Jimmie  Lee,  gone  mad  with  glee,  a-walking 

on  his  hands ; 
And    Kittie   Brown  is  waltzing  on   the  walk  with 

Johnnie  Sands ; 
And  all  the  babies  in  the  block  are  rushed  upon  the 

street, 
That  they  may  share  with  others  in  the  rare  and 

wondrous  treat. 
'Tis  "Tootle-te-tootle-te-too"  and  "Oom-te-tarty- 

tay": 
How  the  children  run  to  see  the  fun  when  the  band 

begins  to  play ! 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  127 

And  the  old  folks,  too,  look  out  from  the  window  or 

the  door, 
And  it  almost  makes  them  feel  as  though  they  too 

were  young  once  more. 
And  they  listen,  and  they  smile,  and  they  nod  their 

heads  in  time 

To  the  ripple  and  the  flow  of  the  melody  sublime. 
'Tis  "Tootle-te-tootle-te-too"  and  "  Oom-te-tarty- 

tay": 
How  the  children  run  to  see  the  fun  when  the  band 

begins  to  play ! 

The  hats  are  passed,  and  up  the  street  a-marching 

then  they  go, 

With  half  a  hundred  children  a-following  in  tow; 
And  soon  we  hear  the  distant   tune,   in  faint  and 

softened  notes, 
Like  hazy  dream  of  pleasures  past,   as  down  the 

breeze  it  floats. 
'Tis  "Tootle-te-tootle-te-too"  and  "  Oom-te-tarty- 

tay": 
How  the  children  run  to  see  the  fun,  when  the  band 

begins  to  play ! 


128  JUST  JINGLES 


The  Tables  Turned 

THREE  little  girls  in  a  row,  oh  ho  ! 

Three  little  girls  in  a  row : 

And  one  saucy  face  is  hidden  by  curls, 
And  one  in  her  hand  her  sunbonnet  twirls, 
And  all  are  wee,  saucy  midgets  of  girls  — 

Three  little  girls  in  a  row. 

Three  little  boys  hid  near  by,  oh  my  ! 

Three  mischievous  boys,  my  eye ! 

And  one  cried,  "Bah  !"  with  a  terrible  shout, 
And  two  cried,  "Boo !"  as  they  all  rushed  out, 
And  put  these  three  little  girls  to  rout 

With  their  strange  and  startling  cry. 

"Boo  hoo!"   cried  the  girls  in  alarm,  "boo  hoo!" 
Oh,  what  shall  we  do,  we  do?" 

"  Te  he  ! "  cried  the  boys,  as  they  ran ;   "  te  he  ! 

Such  fun  as  this  we  never  did  see." 

And   they  danced  and  shouted  and  laughed  in 

glee, 
And  made  a  great  hullabaloo. 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  129 

"Oh  ho!"    cried    three    mammas   with   switches, 

"oh  ho ! 
There's  mischief  afoot,  we  know": 

And  they  captured  those  boys  in  the  wink  of  an 

eye, 

And  out  of  their  jackets  they  made  the  dust  fly, 
And,  merciful  me !  how  those  urchins  did  cry  ! 
Such  a  sorrowful  time,  oh  ho ! 


130  JUST  JINGLES 


A  Pair  of  Runaways 

'  WAY  down  in  the  wood — in  the  deep,  dark  wood 

In  a  quiet,  safe  retreat, 
There  dwelt  a  growlery  grizzly  bear, 

And  her  dear  cub,  Nimblefeet ; 
And  often  she  told  her  baby  bear 

Of  the  dangers  of  the  wood, 
And  warned  him  ever  to  stay  at  home, 

Just  as  a  little  bear  should. 

In  a  cottage  small,  beyond  the  wood, 

With  his  mother  kind  and  true, 
There  lived  a  frolicsome,  laughing  boy, 

Just  about  as  big  as  you  ; 
And  often  this  mother  told  her  child 

Of  the  dangers  of  the  wood, 
And  warned  him  ever  to  stay  at  home, 

Just  as  a  little  boy  should. 

But  it  chanced  one  day,  when  from  her  home 

Mrs.  Bear  was  forced  to  go, 
That  the  baby  bear  crept  slyly  out — 

For  a  little  walk,  you  know  ; 
But  the  sights  were  all  so  strange  and  rare 

That  before  he  hardly  knew, 
He  had  wandered  far  into  the  wood, 

And  his  home  was  lost  to  view. 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  131 

Now  it  also  chanced  that  afternoon 

That  another  runaway — 
The  little  boy,  from  his  cottage  home  — 

Came  into  the  wood  to  play; 
And  just  when  the  shadows  longer  grew, 

In  a  dark  and  gloomy  place, 
The  timid  bear  and  the  frightened  boy 

Came  together,  face  to  face. 

With  a  snort,  a  squeal,  and  whine  of  fear 

The  little  bear  turned  and  fled; 
While  with  screams  and  cries,  with  equal  haste, 

The  little  boy  homeward  sped. 
And  now,  it  is  said,  the  little  bear 

Stays  at  home,  just  as  he  should; 
And  the  boy  no  more  desires  to  play 

In  the  shadow-haunted  wood. 


132  JUST  JINGLES 


The  Wicked  IVambelke  IV oo 


A  WICKED  old  Wam-bel-lee  Woo, 
Goes  about  in  the  dark  crying,  "Boo!" 
And  I  tremble  o'  nights,  when  the  light  is  put  out, 
For  fear  that  this  creature,  in  roaming  about, 
May  chance  upon  me  and  then  wickedly  shout 
His  weird  and  uncanny  cry,  "Boo  !" 

That  this  wandering  Wam-bel-lee  Woo 
May  be  harmless,  I'll  grant  may  be  true; 
But  his  shadowy  form  and  his  great,  glaring  eyes, 
And  the  swish  of  his  inky-black  wings,  as  he  flies, 
Will  alarm  me,  I'm  sure,  as  he  pauses  and  cries, 
In  the  night,  by  my  bedside,  his  "Boo !" 

This  wicked  old  Wam-bel-lee  Woo 
I  have  never  yet  seen  —  nor  have  you  — 
But  I  have  a  queer  feeling  that,  roaming  about, 
There  is  just  such  a  creature,  without  any  doubt ; 
And  some  night  he'll  scare  me,  I'm  sure,  with  his 

shout — 
His  startling  and  terrible  "Boo!" 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  133 


Pussy's  Valentine 

SAID  a  purring,  persuasive  Thomas  Cat 

To  a  meek  little.  Molly  Mouse: 
'You're  the  sweetest  creature,  I  really  think, 

To  be  found  in  all  the  house. 
You  look  so  cunning,  so  lovely,  so  fair, 

I  trust  that  you'll  not  decline 
To  grant  me  the  favor  I  most  desire : 

'Tis  to  be  my  valentine." 

Said  the  flattered,  deluded  Molly  Mouse, 

To  the  purring  Thomas  Cat, 
'  Such  language  as  yours  I  have  seldom  heard  — 

So  gallant  and  all  o"  that : 
So  I  will  confess  that  your  tender  tone 

And  manner  superbly  fine, 
Have  awakened  a  fondness  in  my  heart  ; 

And  I'll  be  your  valentine." 

So  the  Thomas  Cat  and  the  Molly  Mouse 

Wandered  gaily,  side  by  side, 
To  the  cozy  nook  by  the  woodshed  door 

Where  the  pussy  cats  abide. 
Then  what  do  you  think  that  Thomas  Cat  did 

When  he  sat  him  down  to  dine? 
He  pounced  upon  this  poor  little  mouse, 

And  ate  up  his- valentine. 


134  JUST  JINGLES 


Timorous  Tommy 

JUST  listen  a  moment,  and  I  will  tell 
Of  a  strange  adventure  that  befell 
A  timid  youngster  I  knew  quite  well  — 
Young  Timorous  Tommy  of  Glenwood  Dell. 
Just  out  of  the  dell,  half  up  the  hill, 
There  stood  a  towering,  tall  windmill, 
And  still  beyond  stood  a  cottage  small, 
Where  lived  a  lad  named  Timothy  Hall, 
A  playmate  of  Timorous  Tommy. 


One  night  young  Tommy  essayed  to  go 
To  Timothy's  house — for  a  call,  you  know. 
The  thin,  new  moon,  with  its  faint,  pale  glow, 
Scarce  lighted  the  objects  on  earth  below. 
As  Timorous  Tommy  stole  up  the  road 
Toward  the  cottage  small  where  his  friend  abode, 
His  heart  grew  sick  with  a  nameless  fear ; 
He  felt  some  danger  was  lurking  near — 
Apprehensive  Timorous  Tommy  ! 

Then,  what  do  you  think?    Alack !  alack  ! 
A  terrible  thing  stood  in  his  track  ; 
'Twas  tall  and  shadowy,  and  weird  and  black, 
And  its  waving  arms  seemed  warning  him  back, 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  135 

While  there  came  a  grinding,  munching  noise, 
As  though  the  creature  were  eating  boys. 
With  a  cry  of  terror  he  turned  and  fled, 
And  down  the  road  to  his  home  he  sped  — 
Poor,  terrified  Timorous  Tommy  ! 

He  trod  that  road  the  following  day, 

And  then  discovered,  to  his  dismay, 

That  the  creature  fierce  which  blocked  his  way 

And  led  him  such  terror  to  display 

Was  naught  but  the  busy,  long-armed  mill, 

That  clanked  and  creaked  as,  with  hearty  will, 

It  labored  all  day  and  turned  all  night, 

Innocent  of  all  intent  to  fright 

This  trembling  Timorous  Tommy. 


136  JUST  JINGLES 


Orphan  Billy 


YOUNG  Billy  hasn't  any  ma 

To  tell  him  w'at  to  do. 
To  make  him  mind,  an'  comb  his  hair, 

An'  keep  him  in  a  stew. 
He  doesn't  hafto  wash  hisself, 

Ner  mind  about  his  clo'es — 
I  tell  ye  Bill  has  mostest  fun 

Of  any  boy  I  knows. 

'N1  Bill  kin  go  a-fishing,  too, 

Whenever  he's  inclined, 
'N'  he  kin  stay  away  all  day 

'  N'  no  one  ever  mind. 
I  tell  you,  orfuns  has  a  snap : 

I  most  wisht  I  was  one ; 
My  ma  an'  pa  watch  me  so  clost 

I  can't  have  any  fun. 

'  N'  Bill  kin  stay  out  late  o'  nights, 

Till  nine  o'clock,  or  ten  ; 
But  let  me  stay  till  half  past  eight, 

'  N'  sompthin'  happens,  then ! 
'N'  you  ist  ought  to  see  Bill's  clo'es, 

All  tored  up  into  bits ; 
But  if  mine's  tared  a  little  mite 

My  ma  ist  gives  me  fits. 


CHILDREN'S  POEMS  137 

Yis,  orfuns  has  a  snap,  fer  sure : 

Still,  when  I  come  to  think 
About  not  havin'  any  ma, 

I  kind  o'  hafto  wink 
To  keep  the  tears  from  comin'  out ; 

Fer  ma  is  awful  kind, 
'N'  treats  me  nice  an'  lovin',  too, 

1st  'cept  when  I  don't  mind. 

She  gives  me  pie  an'  cake  'tween  meals, 

'N'  helps  me  make  my  kites, 
'N'  sets  fer  hours  beside  my  bed 

When  I  am  sick  o'  nights, 
'N'  softly,  gently  strokes  my  head, 

'N'  calls  me  her  dear  son  — 
I  think  I'd  druther  keep  my  ma, 

'N  let  Bill  have  the  fun. 


MISCELLANEOUS 


MISCELLANEOUS 


If  You've  Only  Got  the  Sand 

ARE  you  struggling  on  life's  journey 

For  a  place  toward  the  top  ? 
Are  you  sometimes  faint  and  weary 

And  almost  inclined  to  stop  ? 
Do  not  falter,  but  keep  going  ; 

Grasp  your  staff  tight  in  your  hand  ; 
Push  ahead ;  you'll  surely  get  there 

If  you've  only  got  the  sand. 


Do  you  wish  to  be  a  soldier, 

Fighting  battles  for  the  right? 
Strap  your  knapsack  on  your  shoulder, 

Grasp  your  weapons  firm  and  tight ; 
You  can  lead  the  hosts  to  battle, 

You  the  armies  can  command, 
You  can  reach  the  front  and  stay  there 

If  you've  only  got  the  sand. 


142  JUST  JINGLES 

Would  you  gain  an  author's  laurels, 

Winning  hearts  with  ready  pen, 
Setting  words  to  pleasant  music, 

Shaping  thoughts  and  wills  of  men  ? 
Would  you  help  the  world  be  better? 

Help  drive  evil  from  the  land? 
Buckle  in  !  you'll  surely  get  there 

If  you've  only  got  the  sand. 

Or,  is  there  some  fond  position 

That  you  eagerly  desire? 
Does  fame  hold  some  crown  above  you 

To  gain  which  you  would  aspire  ? 
Make  a  start,  if  you  would  win  it ! 

Pluck  is  always  in  demand. 
There  is  naught  you  cannot  conquer 

If  you've  only  got  the  sand. 


MISCELLANEOUS  143 


Don't  You  Think  it  Better? 

IF  the  sun  were  always  shining, 

And  the  sky  were  always  blue, 
Then  the  grass  would  miss  the  raindrops 

And  the  flowers  would  miss  the  dew. 
If  the  night  ne'er  brought  the  darkness, 

Then  the  stars  would  never  shine. 
Don't  you  think  that  it  is  better 

Light  and  darkness  to  combine? 

If  we  never  had  to  battle 

With  temptation  or  with  sin, 
We  could  never  test  our  mettle, 

We  could  never  victories  win. 
If  we  never  had  to  labor, 

We  could  ne'er  enjoy  the  rest. 
Don't  you  think  that  toil  and  trouble, 

After  all,  are  for  the  best? 

If  our  paths  were  always  level, 

And  we  ne'er  climbed  mountain  heights, 
We  could  not  gaze  o'er  the  landscape 

At  its  grand  and  pleasing  sights. 
If  this  world  contained  no  sorrow, 

Joys  would  hardly  be  complete. 
Don't  you  think  that  it  is  better, 

Mixing  bitter  with  the  sweet? 


144  JUST  JINGLES 


The  Brave  Ones 


IT  is  easy  to  smile  when  the. bright  sun  is  shining, 

And  Fortune  is  walking  along  by  your  side ; 
It  is  easy  to  laugh  with  our  friends  all  about  us, 

When  nothing  of  evil  or  illness  betide ; 
But   brave   are  the  ones  who,  with  skies  that  are 
darkened, 

And  Trouble  attending,  and  fair  Fortune  fled, 
Will  continue  to  smile,  nor  succumb  to  disaster, 

But,  firm  and  unyielding,  keep  pushing  ahead. 


It  is  easy  to  sail  over  life's  bounding  billows 

When  the  wind  and  the  tide  keep  moving  our 

way ; 

And  'tis  easy  to  sing  when  the  fates  are  propitious, 

And  blue  are  the  heavens,  and  calm  is  the  day ; 

But  when   fiercely  the   storm   king  is  raging  and 

roaring, 

And  dangers  press  thickly  upon  every  side, 
How  brave  is  the  man  who  will  shrink  not  from 

danger, 

But  bend  to  the  oars,  and  pull  strong  'gainst  the 
tide! 


MISCELLANEOUS  145 

'Tis  not  hard  to  do  right  when  the  Tempter  is  ab- 
sent, 

And  duty's  demands  are  a  joy  to  obey; 
When  kind  friends  surround  you,   who  ever  are 

ready 

To  lend  their  assistance  to  help  on  the  way. 
The  hero  is  he  who  alone  struggles  onward, 

Who  meets  with  the  Tempter,  nor  yields  to  his 

wiles, 
Who  can  suffer,  and  struggle  with  ills  that  beset 

him, 

And  still  face  the  world  with  kind   words  and 
sweet  smiles. 


146  JUST  JINGLES 


High  Tide 


HIGH  tide !     The  angry  ocean  fiercely  charges  on 

the  shore ; 
Its  mighty  waves  beat  on  the  rocks  with  sullen, 

baffled  roar : 
The  path  I  thought  to  walk  along  lies  buried  'neath 

the  wave, 
Like  hopes  I  fondly  cherished  once,  that  early  found 

a  grave. 

From  far  out  o'er  the  ocean's  breast  the  mighty 

billows  roll, 
Like  trouble  sweeping  swiftly  on  to  overwhelm  my 

soul; 

My  pathway  seems  forever  lost,  and  joy  forever  fled, 
And  tumult,  storm,  commotion  fierce,  before  my  face 

are  spread. 

But  while  I  stand  with  sinking  heart  and  trembling 

with  my  fears, 
Behold !  the  tide  hath  swept  away,  the  pathway  now 

appears ; 
And  where  my  way  was  hidden  deep  beneath  the 

waters'  whirl, 
Lo !  on  the  sands,  just  at  my  feet,  the  waves  have 

laid  a  pearl. 


Would  I  might  stay,  like  the  laughing  brook,  where  lie  the  shadows  cool  ! 
For  comfort  hides  and  joy  abides  beside  that  woodland  pool. 


MISCELLANEOUS  147 


The  Woodland  Pool 

DEEP  in  the  woodland  dell,  where  the  white  birch 

lovingly  leans, 
And  the  lily's  gold  from  the  sun's  glance  bold  is 

sheltered  by  leafy  screens, 
The   laughing  brook    its  current  stays  where  the 

shadows  fall  so  cool, 
And,  by  green  banks  pressed,  its  waters  rest  in  the 

placid  woodland  pool. 

The  playful  squirrel,  the  sportive  hare,  the  wily  fox 

draw  near ; 
They  slyly  glance  —  and  bathe,  perchance  —  within 

its  waters  clear. 
The  deer  so  fleet  his  nimble  feet  stays  on  its  mossy 

brink 
To  view  his  mirrored  form  below  and  of  its  waters 

drink. 

The  song  bird  builds  its  tiny  nest  in  leafy  bowers 
above, 

And  all  the  day  it  trills  a  lay  —  a  symphony  of  love. 

Would  I  might  stay,  like  the  laughing  brook,  where 
lie  the  shadows  cool, 

'For  comfort  hides  and  joy  abides  beside  that  wood- 
land pool. 


148  JUST  JINGLES 


Blinker  the  Tinker 


YEARS  ago,  when  this  country  was  wilder  and  newer, 
When  customs  were  din0  rent  and  people  were  fewer, 
There  passed  through  the  land  an  itinerant  tinker 
Who  bore  the  proud  title  of  Gottlieb  Von  Blinker — 
Von  Blinker  the  tinker,  a  most  profound  thinker 
Philosopher,  traveler,  Gottlieb  Von  Blinker. 

He  mended  the  pans  for  the  justice  and  mayor, 
For  Peter  the  blacksmith  and  John  the  surveyor, 
For  Andrew  the  fisher  and  Charles  the  musician, 
For  Henry  the  farmer  and  Paul  the  physician  — 

Did  the  tinker  Von   Blinker,  a  most  profound 
thinker, 

Philosopher,  traveler,  Gottlieb  Von  Blinker. 

And  day  after  day,  while  Gottlieb  was  mending, 
He  listened  to  gossip  and  tattle  unending. 
At  Peter's  he  learned  of  the  faults  of  the  farmer, 
And   Henry  disclosed  the  weak  points  in  John's 

armor 
To  the  tinker  Von    Blinker,    a  most   profound 

thinker, 
Philosopher,  traveler,  Gottlieb  Von  Blinker. 


MISCELLANEOUS  149 

The  rich  blamed  the  poor  for  their  humble  condition  ; 
The  poor  cursed  the  rich  for  their  social  position  ; 
And  each  man  would  point  to  some  neighborhood 

sinner, 

And  paint  a  dire  picture  for  Gottlieb  the  tinner — 
For  the  tinker  Von   Blinker,  a  most  profound 

thinker, 
Philosopher,  traveler,  Gottlieb  Von  Blinker. 

The  result  of  his  years  of  profound  observation 
At  last  was  brought  out  in  a  brief  conversation  : 
"  Ouf  you  mix  een  von  pag  der  poor  unt  der  richer, 
You  neffer  couldt  dell  der  vich  vrom  der  vicher, ' ' 

Said  the  tinker  Von  Blinker,  a  most  profound 
thinker, 

Philosopher,  traveler,  Gottlieb  Von  Blinker. 


150  JUST  JINGLES 


The  Rose  and  the  Thorn 

You  doubtless  have  read  what  the  pessimist  said  — 

"There's  a  thorn  hiding  close  to  each  rose" ; 
But  who,  tell  me,  pray,  for  the  thorn  stays  away 
From  the  loveliest  flower  that  grows? 

Who  minds  the  slight  prick  of  the  thorns 
When  seeking  the  sweet-blooming  rose? 
Who  cares  for  their  sting  when  they  bring, 

when  they  bring 
The  fragrant  and  beautiful  rose. 

One  always  can  find,  if  to  sad  views  inclined, 

Some  sting  hidden  near  to  each  joy  ; 
But  sad  is  the  heart  that  will  let  the  slight  smart 
Of  the  thorn  all  his  pleasures  destroy. 
Why  !    I  welcome  the  prick  of  the  thorn 
If  it  brings  me  the  scent  of  the  rose ; 
Its  clinging  caress  I  will  bless,  I  will  bless, 
If  it  brings  me  the  sweet-blooming  rose. 

Yes,  give  me  the  sting  of  the  thorns,  for  they  bring 
Rare  pleasures  along  with  the  smart ; 

And  this  all  must  know  —  wherever  we  go, 
Joy  and  sorrow  are  never  apart. 


MISCELLANEOUS  151 

But  what  of  the  prick  and  the  pain  ? 
But  what  of  the  pang  when  one  knows 
That  each  smart  and  each  sting  to  our  hearts 

soon  will  bring 
The  fragrance  and  balm  of  the  rose? 


152  JUST  JINGLES 


Take  Courage 


THE  task  that  looked  so  difficult 

When  first  it  met  your  view, 
Completed  brings  its  meed  of  joy 

And  recompense  to  you. 
The  way  that  looked  so  long  and  steep 

Leads  you  to  heights  sublime  ; 
The  mountain  view  is  rich  reward 

To  those  who  choose  to  climb. 

The  day  that  looked  so  dark  and  drear 

And  promised  so  much  pain 
Has  been  endured,  and  brought,  no  doubt, 

Some  pleasure  or  some  gain. 
The  starless  night  which  filled  with  dread 

Your  timid,  -shrinking  breast 
Brought  peace  unto  your  weary  soul, 

Unto  your  body  rest. 

Then  courage  take,  and  bravely  meet 

Each  changing  scene  of  life, 
Assured  that  strength  and  wisdom  come 

With  labor  and  with  strife. 
Each  piercing  thorn  foretells  the  rose 

That  soon  will  meet  your  view ; 
Each  sorrow  whispers  of  some  joy 

That  lies  in  wait  for  you. 


MISCELLANEOUS  153 


The  Time  for  Dreaming 

WHEN  the  day  is  dead,  and  the  sun  has  fled, 
And  the  beautiful  stars  are  gleaming, 

Bedecking  the  skies,  and  the  soft  wind  sighs, 
Ah  !  that  is  the  time  for  dreaming ;  — 

When  refulgent  the  skies  with  bright,  watchful  eyes, 
Ah  !  that  is  the  time  for  dreaming. 

Each  beautiful  star  that  is  shining  afar 

Is  a  thought,  a  memory,  streaming 
From  the  heavenly  blue,  and  is  bringing  to  you 

Sweet,  shadowy  myths  for  your  dreaming;  — 
Down,  down  from  the  blue  are  floating  to  you 

Sweet,  mystical  thoughts  for  your  dreaming. 

Each  soft,  gentle  beam  is  a  dream,  is  a  dream, 

A  phantom,  with  all  of  the  seeming 
Of  the  real  and  the  true,  and  they  drift  down  to  you 

Sweet  fallacies,  born  of  your  dreaming;  — 
They  float  down  to  you,   seeming  real,   seeming 
true — 

Sweet  rhapsodies,  born  of  your  dreaming. 


154  JUST  JINGLES 


Sunset  on  the  Farm 

DOWN  behind  the  western  hill  the  red  sun  sinks  to 

rest. 

All  the  world  is  weary,  and  I  am  weary  too. 
The  partridge  seeks  its  covert,  and  the  redbird  seeks 

its  nest, 
And  I  am  coming  from  the  fields,  dear  heart,  to 

home  and  you. 

Home  when  the  daylight  is  waning — 
Home  when  my  toiling  is  done ; 
Ah  !  down  by  the  gate  sweet  watching  eyes  wait 
My  coming  at  setting  of  sun. 

The  sheep  from  off  the  hillside  haste  to  the  shep- 
herd's fold, 
For  death  lurks  in  the  mountains  and  darkness 

comes  apace. 
The  fleeing  sun  looks  backward  and  turns  the  sky 

to  gold, 

Then  folds  the  mantle  of  the  night  across  its  crim- 
son face. 

Home  when  the  daylight  is  waning  — 
Home  when  my  toiling  is  done ; 
Ah  !  down  by  the  gate  sweet  watching  eyes  wait 
My  coming  at  setting  of  sun. 


MISCELLANEOUS  155 

Lay  aside  the  hoe  and  spade,  and  put  the  sickle  by  ; 

All  the  world  is  weary,  and  I  am  weary,  too. 
Gently  fades  the  rosy  light  from  out  the  western  sky, 
And  I  am  coming  from  the  fields,  dear  heart,  .to 

home  and  you. 

Home  when  the  daylight  is  waning  — 
Home  when  my  toiling  is  done  ; 
Ah  !  down  by  the  gate  sweet  watching  eyes  wait 
My  coming  at  setting  of  sun. 


156  JUST  JINGLES 


Good  Night 


GOOD  night,  tired  world  :    the  sinking  sun 

Leaves  you  to  silent  rest  ; 
The  darkness  throws  its  sable  robes 

Across  your  weary  breast ; 
And  Erebus  the  curtain  draws, 

Excluding  Phoebus'  light ;  — 
So  take  your  rest,  O  weary  earth  — 

Good  night,  tired  world,  good  night. 

Good  night,  O  weary  laborer, 

Whose  task  of  day  is  done  ; 
You  too  may  take  your  well-earned  rest 

As  fades  the  setting  sun. 
A  blessing  on  the  weary  one 

Who  labors  for  the  right ; 
Sweet  sleep  and  peace  thy  portion  be  — 

Good  night,  true  one,  good  night. 

Good  night,  fair  youth,  whose  idle  sport 

Hath  filled  the  happy  day ; 
The  welcome  light  is  fading  fast, 

So  lay  aside  thy  play. 
The  merry  game  must  now  be  dropped,' 

The  toy  hid  from  the  sight ; 
Now  Morpheus  comes  to  claim  his  own  — 

Good  night,  sweet  youth,  good  night. 


MISCELLANEOUS  157 

Good  night,  old  age  ;  thy  weary  march 

Adown  the  way  of  years 
Hath  brought  fatigue,  but  now,  before, 

The  Hall  of  Rest  appears  ; 
For  with  the  fleeing  of  the  years 

Thy  burdens  take  their  flight, 
And  sleep  and  rest  are  thine  at  last — 

Good  night,  old  man,  good  night.  . 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


ED 

SEp20'88-3PM 
EDjPSYCH  LIB 


Form  L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


1206       Just  jingles. 


3  1158  01288  7740 


PS 

1206 

B897J 


